


A Human's Prize

by clearinghouse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bottom Sherlock, Fluff, Little Mermaid Elements, M/M, Merman Biology, Merman Sherlock, Prince John - Freeform, Sexual Content, Top John, Water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-24 20:09:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9784016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearinghouse/pseuds/clearinghouse
Summary: Prince John is a well-travelled man of the world, and yet even he is taken aback when a beautiful merman is delivered to the doorstep of the castle. Despite the helpless creature’s fear of him, John resolves to be the best host he can be for his adorable new guest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend, who wanted to see Prince John and Merman Sherlock. :)

In an ironic twist, one of the castle servants came to Prince John’s quarters to summon him. “Sorry to disturb you, sir,” he said. “The captain of the guardsmen ‘as called for you. It seems urgent to ‘im, sir.”

Prince John, who was standing over intricate maps spread out on his desk, immediately turned away from them, to face the servant with the full force of his attention. “All right,” John said, pulling on his coat. “Show me.”

He followed the servant down the stairs, through the foyer, to the courtyard. Standing there was Captain Lestrade—a personal friend of John’s—along with a couple other guardsmen. All of them were in a circle, staring down at a giant wheelbarrow together. Each man seemed unnerved, perplexed, and at a loss for what to do next.

“What’s going on?” John demanded.

“Oh, Prince John’s here,” Lestrade sighed. “Thank goodness. We’ve got something you need to see. None of the doctors can make heads or tails of this. I know Your Royal Highness isn’t a doctor, but we were hoping you may have seen something like this before in your travels? Whatever it is, it can’t be altogether human.”

The men all stepped back, giving John room enough to examine the contents of the wheelbarrow for himself. Therein laid a man—or a boy, perhaps, on account of the smoothness and youth of his features. Either way, John had never seen him before, even though he personally knew everyone who lived in his village. The small thing’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was sparse. He wore no clothing. 

Most extraordinary, of all, however, was the clear evidence that this humanlike entity was not human. Everything was well and good from the top of the sweet-looking young man’s dark curly hair down to the top of his hips, but that was where the man’s humanity ended. The skin became a soft, pale blue. A single enormous leg-tail, like the lower body of a great fish, extended down from the bottom of the hips, and stopped in a cone shape. The end-tip of the tail sported two out-reaching fins, perpendicular to the rest of the body. There was no genitalia visible, save perhaps for a single slit at the groin which blended in so well with the skin that it was difficult to notice at first glance.

The rest of his body was not so human as it first appeared, either, at second glance. The thin creature’s delicate, unblemished skin was unusually white and had no hair. His chest and arms were not as stocky and muscular as a typical man’s would be; they were more feminine and slender in shape. He was lovely to look upon, with a slightness and frailness of body that only made him even lovelier.

However, John was not taking too much stock of these details just yet. His eyes were too heavily trained upon this stranger’s pink, barely-parted lips, through which small, agonised gasps could faintly be heard.

“It was a fisherman who found him,” Lestrade said. “And he’s been as good as dead to us like this for the whole time we’ve had him. Assuming it’s a he, anyway.”

John touched the creature’s hairless sternum, to feel for the young man’s pulse. There was a pulse, but what alarmed John much more was the sting of extreme cold that he felt all along the dry, smooth skin.

Lestrade scratched his head. “We noticed that he was getting cold like that, along the way here. He wasn’t as cold before. He was cold, to be sure, but not like this. He can’t be dead, can he? Not with his heartbeat still going.”

“But then why isn’t he shivering?” John murmured to himself. Of all the peoples he’d encountered in his adventures around the world, not one would function with such a startlingly low body temperature as this.

“We thought he seemed all right—”

“That must be it—he can’t shiver!” John shouted suddenly. “I need fire and blankets, now!” He spun on the three startled men who were gathered around him. “Go on, then! You, find some blankets, and bring them here! Towels, blankets, anything thick! You, start the fire in the castle! And for God’s sake, someone get this man out of this wheelbarrow!”

“Where should he go?” asked Lestrade in genuine confusion.

“Anywhere! In the castle! I’ll show you, just follow me.” John reached for the stranger, to lift him up by the shoulders while Lestrade might take him by the feet. However, once John had hold of him, the man’s body came up with surprisingly little effort. The man was taller than John, but he was a slight figure indeed, slighter even than he had seemed from his position in the wheelbarrow. A child might weigh less. John could carry him without difficulty on his own strength.

John cradled the poor sleeping man to his breast like a cherished baby, and brought him inside.

–

What John had realised was that the pale little creature must have fainted from hypothermia. It wasn’t on account of cold alone; the weather outside was perfectly fine. Was it a birth defect, perhaps, that caused too much of his body heat to escape? How awful it appeared, that the poor thing’s body seemed to doom itself.

John had initially placed his guest on a sofa in the very first room of the castle. He and the guardsmen had worked to warm him with blankets and by the fire. Once his temperature had returned to the levels that John would expect from a human being, he had dismissed Lestrade and the guardsmen. The three of them weren’t confident about leaving John alone to it, but John had assured them that he could look after this stranger by himself.

The real reason why John had dismissed them was to get the poor creature away from the crowd of morbidly-fascinated onlookers. John knew how to treat an ill person right; guardsmen didn’t. Even his friend Lestrade, bless his heart, spent a little too much time staring at the creature’s peculiar yet pretty features. His curly dark hair, his nearly-white colour, his soft and untainted skin, his weak arms and legs—John felt compelled to protect all of the defenceless man from the glances of the guardsmen.

Still, Lestrade and his men were as reliable as stone. John had asked them not to tell anyone that any vulnerable, tail-bodied creature was currently recuperating in the castle, and he knew they wouldn’t. John made that same wish clear to the servants of the house as well. 

It occurred to John a short time after the guardsmen had left that a bath of hot water might be better suited for regulating the body temperature of the castle’s newest inmate. John decided against this; he had no wish to risk putting an unconscious man in a pool of water.

In the meantime, John kept an exceedingly close eye on the creature that better resembled an attractive fairy than a strange man. John tried to make him comfortable. He went so far as to soak towels in hot water for his guest, and continuously changed them when they became too cool.

At the end of the day, when John was returning with a new pail of hot water to dip some fresh blankets in, the sound of loud, irregular humming caught his attention.

The sound was coming from his beautiful guest. The noise was unusually loud, more akin to a shout than a hum. On the sofa, the thin, white-skinned man was wide-awake and alert. His bright, anxious eyes were starkly open, and darting about the room in great alarm. His slim throat vibrated, making a loud noise that did not take the shape of intelligible words. 

John approached him. “Hey, there. Are you all right?”

The vibrating stopped right away. The alarmed young man, startled by John’s bold movement toward him, stared at John with the confusion and terror of a lost child. Now that his guest was awake and in motion, John could see how fairy-like his body really was. Unfortunately, the look of fear on his face appeared even stronger when set against the youthfulness of his features.

That scared reaction was easy to understand. John had supposed that this mysterious individual would have no idea where he was, when he at last came to. So, it didn’t bother John if his guest was frightened of him. If anything, it was to be expected. “Sh, don’t panic. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe here. My name is John. You might have heard of me as Prince John? But don’t call me that, if you can help it. We’re in my castle. It’s a big place, isn’t it?” Very slowly, John sat by the blanket-covered man. The man flinched back like a startled animal, but John kept happily smiling. He presented his bare hands, palms first. “There’s nothing here that will hurt you. See? No weapons on me, and you’re free to move about. You’re my personal guest.”

The man looked down at where John had so brazenly sat, then at the empty hands, and then back up at the prince. Beneath the innocent fearfulness flickering in those bright eyes, there was a new, hesitant curiosity. One of the boy-like man’s slim, pale hands slowly rose from its warm covers, reaching for John’s face.

Intrigued, John watched him do so, without interrupting.

The white, gentle fingers pulled back in worry, stopped, and then came cautiously forward again, until they connected with the sun-tanned skin and days-old stubble along John’s chin. Those inhumanly light fingers tapped against the stubble, testing its fineness, ascertaining that the hair was indeed real.

John laughed.

The lovely yet nervous man recoiled away instantly.

“Ah, no, don’t be afraid! That was very adorable, what you were doing. You were playing with my hair, weren’t you? I take it you have never seen facial hair before.” That seemed a reasonable conclusion to draw; certainly, the face of this feminine, soft creature had never known the facial growth of a man. “Mine grows back every morning. Sometimes I cut it, but what can I say? I like the rugged look. I’ve got more where that came from, too, all over.” John rolled up his sleeve. “See my arm? Go ahead, you can touch it.”

There was a frightened jump of the small, fragile body on the couch. Very gradually, though, the shy creature worked up the courage to do as John asked. The unblemished, pale hand reached out once more, to feel the coarse hair and structure of John’s arm. 

John was enjoying this more than he might have guessed he would. His guest had already looked cute before; the juvenile manner with which the little thing explored John made him seem especially babyish and sweet. John opened his palm for his new friend, encouraging him to go on accustoming himself to the darker and more well-defined body of a human.

This openness surprised the creature. He tentatively touched the open palm, tracing the strong lines that marked it. “John,” he said to himself, quietly.

John brightened. “That’s right! So you can speak?”

“Yes, I…” The gentle creature receded. “I… um, need water.”

That should have occurred to John sooner. “I’ll bet you do! I’ll get you a glass to drink.”

“N-No, I need… a lot of water.”

John’s brow rose. “A lot? How much?” His earlier intuition about the bath might have been spot on after all. “I have a bathtub that you can use, if a bath is what you’re asking for. It’s upstairs. I don’t suppose you can… walk?” Instantly, he regretted mentioning that. There was no way this creature could walk.

There was only a hesitant and wordless shake of the curly-haired head to answer him.

“Yeah, that was a silly question, wasn’t it? Forget I asked.” John jumped onto his own feet, and extended his arms. “Here, I’ll carry you myself! It’s no trouble at all.” 

The man didn’t seem too happy about it, but he was in no position to protest. 

John picked up the little blanket-wrapped thing, bridal style—the young man seemed quite flustered about having to lie against John like this, but still did not complain—and moved him through the grand house. The thin creature was absolutely taciturn, and avoided John’s gaze. John did notice that he often stared at the things they passed along the way; the crackling of the fireplace that he had been left to warm himself by was of the most profound interest to him. 

John found that he rather enjoyed carrying him like this. There was something about the way the gentle stranger nestled against John that John liked a great deal.

John brought his guest to the upstairs bathroom. Immediately, the pale creature was revolted by the tub’s small size, yet it would have been no use for him to reject it. John had no alternative available for him. At least, the tub was far better for him in size than the sink or the toilet. John settled his light, nervous package down in the tub, and switched on the hot water. 

Those supernatural eyes observed the rush of water from the tap. It was clear that he was enchanted by the technology, and the parts through which the water flowed.

John crossed his arms on the rim of the tub. “So, what’s your name?”

The question was meant to be a simple one, yet the thin creature hesitated. He pulled back to the corner of the tub, keeping something of a safe distance from John. “Sher… S-Sherlock.”

Again, John didn’t mind Sherlock’s anxiety. It only made John more determined to comfort and reassure him. “Sherlock? That’s a pretty name. Well, Sherlock, you have your water now. Are you hungry, too?”

Sherlock nodded uncertainly, biting his lip anxiously as he did so.

“I’ll go see if we have anything you like.”

“Wait, I need more water… p-please?” the poor thing stuttered. “I can’t have… only this water…”

John crossed his arms and tilted his head. “What do you need more water for? I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything else like this for swimming in. This is as much as I can do for you.”

“You don’t understand… please…” But for all his frustration, Sherlock only looked away, too ashamed to say more.

John knelt down, and tried to give Sherlock a friendly smile. “What don’t I understand?”

But the white creature was positively taciturn. Sherlock sulked by himself, and shook his head. 

Sighing, John stood back up. “Okay. I can go get you some food, first. Then, I’ll see what I can do about getting you more water.”

John left the bathroom. He found the dinner that had been prepared for him. Whether or not his mysterious new friend would find it appetizing was yet to be known, but it would have to do for now. John went to the staff and asked them to prepare a second one. Then, he took the first one back to Sherlock. The whole trip didn’t take him more than a quarter of an hour.

The precious half-human creature had moved to one side of the tub. His face was buried miserably in his hands. His pale-blue tail was curled against himself, and half-submerged in the rising water. When John came close, his ears picked out sobs. Sherlock was crying. 

Instantly, John left his platter of food by the sink. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

The pale hands pulled back, and Sherlock stared with horrified, reddened eyes at John. The poor little thing was humiliated.

“What’s wrong? It’s okay, everything’s going to be—” John stopped, his fingers just skimming the water when they had instinctively reached out to comfort Sherlock. The water had turned a pale yellow in colour.

“Get me out of here, please,” Sherlock rasped, too embarrassed by what he had done to say more.

“Uh, no, it’s okay.” John reached down through the now-soiled water and opened the drain. With a great rush, the water spun down through the orifice. “It’s easy to change the water. See?” John shut the drain and turned the knob again, beginning the process again.

Sherlock watched all of this closely, without moving a muscle.

“Next time you need to relieve yourself, you can also use the toilet.” John flushed said toilet to demonstrate. He had the thought to study Sherlock’s compatibility with the contraption, and sighed. “Do you think you can use this? I bet you’ll be able use it for number two, if not number one. You can crawl up onto the seat here, do your business, and press this lever. If you need help getting up and down, then you can ask me. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I only want to help you.”

Sherlock had calmed remarkably while John was demonstrating. His manner became subdued. “Thank you,” he whispered softly.

John bent down beside the bathtub. He held out his arms for his little friend. “Don’t cry, now. Come here.”

Slowly—very slowly—Sherlock came to him. John hugged him comfortingly around his shoulders, and Sherlock—perhaps caught off guard by John’s free gesture of care and support—didn’t cry as much anymore.

–

Sherlock refused to admit to the intimidating human that he was stuck here. 

He suspected that the tan-skinned, brown-haired human called John would help him return to the ocean, if he asked John to do so. Besides that, Sherlock was well aware that he could crawl on his own two hands to find some wheeled device with which to roll himself back to the ocean. But either way, it was too pathetic and humiliating. Besides which, there was nothing good waiting for him back home to make such a trip worthwhile. Sherlock would not crawl back to the mermen, and in such a literal way, no less. 

Moreover, he did not want to appear so defenceless in front of John.

He already had appeared defenceless, though, hadn’t he? He couldn’t undo the humiliation he had already brought upon himself.

Sherlock had been beached by a rough storm. He’d known the storm was coming, but he’d been too reckless and too eager to get away from the other mermen who were looking for him; he failed to avoid the storm in time. Naturally, the curious humans who had found him lying on the sand were more interested in passing his aquatic form around than in helping him. He hadn’t had the strength to speak, to speak of nothing of making them put him back in the water.

He wasn’t supposed to be quite as debilitated as he was now. In a way, it was humorous, because it had been his own not-so-brilliant idea to find a witch who would cast a spell on him which would make his body cool itself more than was natural. He had done so in order to better suit himself for an escape to the shores of mankind. After all, he’d known that his normal body temperature and his lack of sweat would cause his water-adapted body to overheat if he were ever out of the ocean for too long. Unfortunately, the spell must have been too hastily applied, or else done incorrectly; his body now cooled itself too much.

Thankfully, the great, strapping prince named John had saved him. Sherlock couldn’t imagine for what purpose. Sherlock didn’t even know how he’d got here to this castle exactly. At least John hadn’t demanded any compensation for saving him yet. John had even been so polite as to call him his guest. 

His guest? Without the ocean to escape into, and with too much pride to admit his desperate situation, Sherlock didn’t have much of a choice but to be the frighteningly large human’s guest. Sherlock could barely move at the moment. When he was in the glorious water, all Sherlock had to do to rise and fall was use his control of the water and his own breathing. But out in the hateful air, the unmoderated press of his own weight was a constant strain which breathing did nothing to alleviate. His own body was acting against itself, to say nothing of the permanent cooling inside him. The enormous body-sized bowl of hot water that John had provided gave Sherlock much-needed relief from having to endure the cold or carry his own weight.

Even so, it was mortifying to be trapped like this, in so small a space, cornered by waterless air.

Moreover, what would his seven brothers—all of them perfect snobs—think of him if they ever learned that he had become a human’s prize? Poorly. More poorly than they already did. 

John came to speak to him frequently. Indeed, Sherlock would have died of boredom in that horribly white-walled bathroom if his self-appointed caretaker had not stayed by him to talk to him while he recovered. Sherlock took those opportunities to study John’s appearance. Though the obvious strength of the man was terrifying to the weak-bodied Sherlock, there could be no doubt that the human was handsome to look at. His shadowed face was rugged and charming. His two legs were very curious, and his alien-looking body hair was eerily fascinating. Like other humans, John wore clothes to hide much of these details, much to Sherlock’s disappointment. Sherlock himself did not choose to speak very much when John came by, but John made up for it with energetic conversation of his own. 

“You better not come up with any ideas about owing me anything,” John said to Sherlock with gusto and that low, rich voice of his. “It’s always been important to me to throw my hand in and help people out when they’re in trouble, like you are. So, I’m here to help you. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to.”

Sherlock pensively sank back in the water, pouting in confusion. Humans weren’t known for their charity, yet John was treating him—him, a weak and pathetic merman—like a long lost companion.

“Of course, whenever you want to tell me where it is you’re from—and of course when you can move, too, which I noticed you’re still having trouble doing—then I’ll take you back to your home.”

Sherlock wouldn’t admit to this large, fearsome beast of a human that he’d never become any more mobile than this, not while he was as marooned and helpless as any fish out of water. 

Neither would he confess to John that he was a runaway. For the sake of his own insecurities, Sherlock had abandoned his friends and family in the city-state of Atlantica, that fantastically overblown kingdom under the sea; they weren’t likely to welcome him back anytime soon.

How long could he count upon the pity and hospitality of a great human prince, even one as inexplicably generous and protective as John? Indefinitely? Sherlock began to calculate the probability in his head. If it wasn’t forever, it was at least long enough for him to think of a better plan later.

“No, you can’t take me home,” Sherlock murmured quietly. “I’m a merman. Mermen… don’t have homes.”

– 

John may have been born a prince, but that fact made little difference in his life. He went about town like everyone else, shopped like they did, and exercised like they did. He even made an extra effort to attend services with the rest of them, and to know every citizen by name. The people loved for him for his sociability, and yet they never treated him like anyone but the royal prince. 

As a prince, he had little to no royal duties. The burdens of the royal family fell on the shoulders of his older sister, Her Majesty. She was the queen, though even her duties were limited. The majority of the administration of the land was conducted by elected officials. That was all just as well; none of the royal family was all that skilled in matters of finances, to say nothing of how one of them might manage a kingdom. 

So, John devoted his time to other things.

Namely, he was a treasure hunter—a thrill-seeker, a collector, and a sportsman rolled into one. 

Expensive maps of the entire known world adorned his wing of the castle. Fewer in number, but still numerous, were the souvenirs, which filled the empty spots in his bookcases and shelves. John had gone on countless expeditions. It was a hobby of his to tag along on the ships of Her Majesty’s navy, so that he might explore some of the lesser-known corners of humanity. John wasn’t interested in the treasures themselves, and often, he chose not to keep what items he found. It was the thrill of the chase, and the bodily exertion, that kept him interested. He wasn’t the sort of man to be afraid of ripping off his sweat-stained shirt and climbing a mountain in only his underclothing.

He hadn’t been on any expeditions for a while, though. In his younger days, he would throw himself onto a ship at the slightest rumour of treasure to be had. Nowadays, he spent more of his time researching those rumours beforehand. He had been in the midst of his researches for one such undertaking when Lestrade and his men had come to the castle, with his sweet, beautiful Sherlock in pain and in a wheelbarrow—Sherlock, the mysterious, soft little creature from the ocean who needed John’s constant care and protection.

John hadn’t touched a map since then.

–

Sherlock was amazed when John used a long metal object to break open the floor and wall of the bathroom, so that he could reconfigure the magical pipes which supplied and drained Sherlock’s water-bowl. Working on his knees, John pulled the pipes out and added more pipes to extend them. The process took a few hours. The job was much more manual and labour-intensive than the sort of work done by mermen. The way John used the tools—the way his muscles corded, and how his animal skin-water dripped from him—held Sherlock’s rapt attention. The man’s warm, musky smell also seemed to intensify as he worked. Sherlock was fascinated by it, though he would not admit something so inappropriate aloud.

“Now you’ll have a little something nicer to look at all day than these white walls,” John declared cheerfully with a hearty sigh of satisfaction, when his task was complete.

The end result of John’s labours was that Sherlock’s enormous bowl of water could be moved into the next room: John’s quarters. Sherlock hadn’t had the opportunity to see it before. He took a good look of it now. There were writings and diagrams everywhere. Paintings of colourful, far-away places were bordered by framed documents and monochrome sketches. The documents had nothing substantial in common with each other, but the sketches were all composed by the same hand.

John appeared to be delighted by Sherlock’s curiosity. “Oh, you like my stuff? I stop seeing these things, myself, after a while, but I’m glad if you like them. I’ve been all over the world, and I have a bad habit of bringing some of the world back with me when I come home. I ought to show you the rest of this castle, too, or at least the good parts of it. Come on, I’ll carry you.” John wrapped a dry blanket around Sherlock, and picked him up.

Sherlock gasped, ashamed and shocked that John would so casually handle him as if he were a child to be minded. The feel of John’s easy strength and power over him made his own mild heart palpitate. “B-But, I can’t… m-my water—!”

“It’s fine,” John laughed. Perhaps on account of John’s greater size, the laugh was a fuller and more vibrant sound than any laugh a merman could make. “Your water can’t go down the stairs, so I’ll just have to hold you, like this. It won’t take too much time. Relax, okay? I’ll bring you back here when I’ve shown you the house. Is this comfortable enough for you?”

The weight of his own body wasn’t comfortable in the air, but Sherlock found that he didn’t too much mind John’s giant hair-covered arms or the unadulterated musk of John’s scent. Sherlock could handle this indignity, for a little while. Sheepishly, Sherlock nodded.

John must have remembered Sherlock’s interest in the grand fireplace, because it was the first thing he presented to Sherlock. Even though Sherlock had long ago studied the chemistry of combustion, he had rarely seen it in person; to have the chance to leisurely behold it was to behold a miracle of nature. He certainly had never taken a good look at one artificially maintained in a home in this way. It made for a fascinating art piece, Sherlock supposed. The smell of it was remarkably earthy, though not as warm and disarming as the aroma that came off of John’s broad frame. 

“Her Majesty is never warm enough unless there’s a fire burning in the house,” John explained to Sherlock. “I don’t think about it much myself, but it does keep the place toasty.”

Sherlock found that notion laughable. It seemed absurd that John’s skin—together with his clothes—was not thick enough to keep his body sufficiently heated in the cold seasons, as a merman’s was. On the other hand, Sherlock could not laugh at the heat that was soaking into him from John’s body at the moment. That warmth was rough and intoxicating. He hadn’t thought about it before, but John’s warmth felt unfairly good against his own cold-cursed form.

John went on to show him other things that were more solid than fire. There were paintings and documents in every hallway, and John had a small story to share for several of them. Very little was said of the furniture, but some of the smaller blankets and rags had come from faraway places which Sherlock did not know. Except for the written works, the items were all decorative pieces. Though the patterns of their themes were interesting, the items fascinated Sherlock less than more industrial items would have. 

Most important to Sherlock was how John felt about the pieces. The great prince was not fastidious about them. For example, he didn’t mind wrinkling the textiles whenever he chose to set Sherlock down and show one to him. John’s joy was not in the upkeep of the objects, but in the telling about how he had acquired them; his face glowed with enthusiasm and nostalgia as he recalled the thrill and the dangers that surrounded their histories. 

It was all a prize collection in the making, Sherlock realised. It was obvious: this human was a treasure hunter, someone who hunted and collected for sport. Sherlock more than empathised with John’s vigour. Sherlock, too, was a thrill-seeker, and a small-time collector, though Sherlock preferred weapons and machines to paintings and pottery. It did not surprise Sherlock, either, to hear that John so often sought to push his physical limits. It was far too easy for Sherlock to picture John’s powerful arms and heaving chest swinging in action—tearing off a torn and battered shirt—while he dug his way through abandoned ruins.

But Sherlock didn’t have to be clever or empathetic to deduce the next most obvious fact: this collector had wanted to add a merman to his collection. 

That was the only explanation for why Sherlock was brought to a royal’s castle, and why a high-born human had looked after him with so much care. There could be no other explanation for the kind behaviour that such a beast as John had shown him.

Of course, Sherlock should have known this from the beginning. All throughout history, humans always treated mermen like curiosities.

It was hard for Sherlock to accept. Though Sherlock wanted to despise John for it, he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to hate any part of John. Despite his unusual manners and bipedal body, John’s personality was friendly and intimate. He had kept Sherlock company almost the entire time. John had attentively given him shelter and food, even after nursing Sherlock back to good health. 

Sherlock pondered John’s kindness, his deep voice, his great strength, and his rugged, smiling face. His skin and hair were both so fascinatingly coarse and shaded. The thick, undiluted smell of him filled Sherlock with feelings of fondness and security. Sherlock was very truly part of a collector’s gallery now; and yet, it was not such a bad thing as he would have expected. He was being doted on and well cared for by a chiselled beast with an adventurous heart, not unlike his own.

Did any of that explain the sweet stirring he felt deep with himself, to be so near John’s delicious warmth and rugged power, while John carried him?

John was saying something now, but Sherlock didn’t hear him past the pounding of his pulse in his own ears. It had shocked him, to have the sudden idea that John might intentionally be holding him to affect him in this way. 

It shocked him even more, how much he enjoyed such a possibility. He was terribly encumbered by his own weight and barely able to move in the air—evil air, that did nothing to help him stay cool or stay warm—yet it was worth it, if his big John would exploit the situation to handle him so romantically.

Maybe his possessive prince could handle his new showpiece in other ways, too? Maybe Sherlock’s modest merman body could be something exploring?

No, that was absurd. Sherlock stopped himself from following that immature line of thought as soon as he could, before he could hurt himself with it. Though Sherlock admired John, he knew that he was only a guest—or maybe a pet—in John’s eyes. John certainly did not entertain any thought of mating with someone as inferior as him. John would laugh such an idea off with amusement, or else chastise Sherlock for daring to speak of such unforgivable bestiality. 

Besides, even if the handsome prince ever had feelings for Sherlock that went deeper than a caretaker’s attachment, John was too proper a man to take advantage of someone who was so weak and so dependent upon him. Sherlock was John’s small and helpless pet now; he might have John’s friendship, but never would be good enough to earn his love. 

It was the most demeaning and awful thought he’d ever allowed himself to have, but… Sherlock would gladly accept his fate if he was doomed to be nothing more than John’s beloved pet. 

There, wrapped in a roll and pathetically vulnerable against John’s curled muscles and hot skin, Sherlock was happy enough.

–

John was terrifically obsessed with his helpless merman, no question about it.

He had added a second valve in the pipes, next to the bathtub, so that Sherlock could drain and refill his tub on his own. Of course, John had figured out eventually that Sherlock was too embarrassed to drag himself to the valves that were still in the bathroom. John was only too ready to make Sherlock’s life easier, even in this small way. He would do nothing less for his gentle, fair-skinned friend.

John liked to think that they were real friends now. He had tried his best to be on good terms with the pale, gentle creature before, but feelings of friendship didn’t finally settle between them until John had started telling him about the city. Unlike the fantastic stories that John weaved of the many faraway places he’d been to, the things he said about the city were mundane and domestic. Sherlock took to them enthusiastically, with all the energy of a curious child. He wanted to know how the sewers worked, and how hot water could be delivered so easily through his tap. After John admitted to not knowing, he found a technical manual on the subject and read it aloud to Sherlock. 

Sherlock was brilliant. He delved into the practical application of the sciences with great sharpness. Often, John couldn’t quite keep up with him. John was a simple sort of adventurer—he didn’t need to know how a volcano functioned before he would climb into one—but Sherlock’s soul was that of an adventurer as well as that of a puzzle-solver. 

Come to think of it, the thrill that John got from climbing a volcano was not so different from the feeling he got when he sat at his writing desk, looking over his own shoulder at Sherlock while he innocently examined a pencil sharpener or an envelope scale. The light in Sherlock’s enchanted eyes, and the glee in his endless curiosity, affected John more than was decent.

It made John think about lifting his thin, bare-skinned merman straight out of his little tub, pinning him with the force of all his affection and desire to his nearby bedsheets, reaching without hesitation for that enticing little fissure that ran down the front of Sherlock’s groin, and enchanting his gentle Sherlock more than a pencil sharpener ever could. 

Sherlock was such a smooth, flawless creature. He was so enigmatic and yet as cute as a dress-up doll. John wondered if such a delicate merman would ever let a human as rough and barbaric as him touch him. 

Whenever John tried to distract himself with his usual treasure-hunting research, something dangerous inside of him flared with a passion and compelled him to think of his shy, trusting Sherlock again. John thought about how Sherlock’s voice might rise and gasp, if John ever had the chance to pleasure him. He imagined what Sherlock’s small slit might look like inside, if John tenderly opened it with his own fingers—that is, the slit hidden at his rear, as well as the one at the front, neither of which were hidden in the clear bathtub water. John would take things as slowly as Sherlock liked, at first; he would make sure that his gentle Sherlock was comfortable and well-prepared as he explored how thoroughly he could satisfy his powerless, beloved merman.

But, no, that was absurd. 

His lovely Sherlock was in a genuinely helpless position. John couldn’t share these feelings with Sherlock while he was stuck in John’s castle. John would never take advantage of him. John had faith that his good sense and his honest desire to keep Sherlock safe and secure would prevail. 

Still, Sherlock was such an endearing sweetheart, with all the humility and innocence of a saint. John loved to spend time with his unexpected tenant, even if they would only ever be friends.

One day, John finally remembered the existence of his maps, when Sherlock mentioned them. Sherlock wanted to touch them with his wet hands, but John reluctantly denied him the privilege. “I’m sorry, but they’ll be ruined if they get wet.”

That possibility excited Sherlock. “They will?”

John burst into laughter, delighted by the little creature’s infinite curiosity. “Yeah, and no, it’s not so amazing as you think. You really aren’t familiar with paper? Well, the water gets into the paper, the ink mixes with the water, and that’s that. It all comes off.”

“You don’t use oil to write? Or… stones?”

“I can’t say that I do.”

“Um, what if I dry my hands first?” Sherlock considered the risks of that option. “But, I might drop it into the water… that would be bad… oh!” He grabbed the side of the water-bowl eagerly, rippling the water. “Will you please… hold it, for me?”

“Sure, that’d be my pleasure.” John sat down by the tub, and showed Sherlock one of his more interesting maps.

Sherlock squinted at the words on the page.

“Can you read it?”

“Y-Yes, I can read. I don’t know most of these names, though…”

“That’s okay, neither do I! That’s why I keep these maps around. I wouldn’t be able to find any place otherwise.”

“Um, are we on this map?”

“Yeah. Let me show you.” John came around to be behind Sherlock. He held the map up in front of both of them, and pointed out their location. “See?”

Sherlock was in awe. “There, to the right, is that the ocean?”

“Yeah! You’ve got it!” Without thinking about it, John gave Sherlock an encouraging pat along the smooth back of Sherlock’s neck.

John thought that Sherlock shivered cutely at the friendly touch. At least, Sherlock didn’t pull away. Instead, he moved backward in the hot water, so that his weightless head could rest against John’s support.

At first, John was amazed. Then, he grinned with joy and satisfaction. He let his hand clasp the cool back of Sherlock’s exposed neck more securely, as a proud parent might hold a child, though the dark feelings that were stirring inside of him were of a much different character. There was a brief pause of silence between them. John fondly rubbed Sherlock’s slender neck and naked back, not knowing very well himself what he meant with the gesture.

“P-Please, tell me, how do humans measure these distances?” Sherlock asked at last, in a quiet voice.

–

Sherlock longed for his strong, able-bodied protector in the worst way.

It was most usual for the prince to read to Sherlock late at night. When Sherlock grew too fatigued for more, John would retire to his pillows and his sheets, leaving Sherlock alone in his still water on the other side of the room for sleep. How ridiculous it was, Sherlock bemoaned, that circumstances were such that he must be such a fixture in John’s bedchambers and yet John did not want him!

But Sherlock wanted John, as unforgivable as that was. He dared to dream that his big, strong human would want him as well, even though Sherlock was such a shy, plain merman. It wasn’t right to wish for anything so outrageous between them, but still he wanted John to use him. He imagined that John might pin his little treasure underneath him, to whisper to him while he freely enjoyed his most valuable prize. John did essentially own him, didn’t he? John could own him with his body, too; his pale little merman would be so helpless and excited underneath John’s great power. Sherlock would do anything that his powerful, commanding prince desired of him, so long as he could be safe and secure in the human’s arms, for hours at a time if possible. 

Alas, Sherlock only lost hours of sleep while he pined miserably for his kind, attentive guardian.

Back in the great big blue, if ever he had cause to hide, Sherlock could always swim away. He could flee as far down in the water as he needed to. While he was trapped in John’s care, however, he could not run or hide. Thus, there was no way for him to sate his desire for John in secret. So far, Sherlock had ignored his body and waited for the inexcusable desires to fade away, sad and unsatisfied. The unavoidable consequence was that Sherlock was increasingly high-strung with every passing night.

This night, however, after John had finished reading a manual on the nature of road-building to his shy audience, he did not leave Sherlock to sleep as was his custom. He stayed kneeling next to the tub, looking at Sherlock, seeming to struggle over what to say.

Sherlock didn’t understand what his human meant by it. “John?”

John smiled back at him. There was more admiration in John’s gaze then Sherlock knew what to do with. “I wish I had a bigger tub that I could give you, you know,” John said at last, “so I could fit in there with you, and stay with you all night.”

A flattered flash of bashfulness glittered across Sherlock’s face. He would love so much to be with John like that, even if John was speaking only in platonic terms. It would be glorious, to lie alongside someone so big and strong and marvellously warm, and who was so keen on protecting him.

“But, that tub’s not a size enough for two, is it? So, I have another idea. It’s not as good, but hear me out.” John tenderly caressed Sherlock’s curls. “Will you spend the night in my bed with me?”

A shock of heat shivered through Sherlock, down through his abdomen to his tail-fins. “M-Me?” he stammered.

“Yeah. You’ve been a great friend to me, and… the truth is, I really hate leaving you alone in this thing all the time. It doesn’t sit right with me.” 

“Oh, um… it’s fine,” Sherlock hastened to lie. It was true that he was more than a little embarrassed by his confinement, but he certainly didn’t want John to worry about him.

“I know it’s fine, but humour me. You don’t have to be in this thing every night, do you? I realise you have trouble out of water, but, I can hold onto you while you’re with me, and it would just be for a few hours. I’ll put you back in sooner if it gets to be too much, too. I’ll understand if it’s not your thing, but… how does that sound to you? Sleeping with me, outside of this thing, for a night?”

What a lovely, awful proposition. He was only John’s possession, not one whom John loved; Sherlock had to remind himself of this, lest he lose himself in how much he wanted the brilliant prince to love him. Sherlock couldn’t expect John to have such feelings for the sea creature who was only a fixture in his hoard of prizes, even if that sea creature was a friend. That’s what John had meant with this speech; he was a concerned friend, who was pitying Sherlock for his circumstances.

Yet Sherlock’s body betrayed his desire. Even though he knew in his mind that the true nature of his merman anatomy would only repulse John, he wanted terribly to share John’s bed as a human would. And John did care for him and admire him, in some way. Even if John wasn’t in love him and couldn’t find him appealing, couldn’t he still find it an interesting experience to possess his prize, in the lowest and basest way?

When John came close, Sherlock sheepishly let himself be picked up. John moved him from the water and laid him along the yielding sheets that were raised above the ground by the soft padding and the hard frame of the bed. “Relax. I’ll get more blankets for you so you don’t freeze. I’ll be right back, all right?”

Sherlock was sickeningly ashamed of himself. John could never use him selfishly like that. John was too kind. That thought made Sherlock grab for John, to try to keep him from leaving at all. Sherlock’s body was too heavy for him in the air, and he most certainly would grow very cold outside of the warm water, but that didn’t matter. He needed John’s company more than he needed any blanket.

“It’s okay, Sherlock. Calm down, nothing to worry about. Ha, you’re like my little baby, aren’t you? I can’t leave you alone for a single minute.” John stroked Sherlock’s loose black hair, down along his thin neck. “There’s no need to panic. I am going to take care of you, like I always do.”

Sweet excitement singed Sherlock’s nerves, as he read too far into John’s meaning. Sherlock was speechless, and terrified of his own need for more of John’s closeness. 

“Excuse me a second.” John left the bed and took a large, thick kind of blanket from the closet. Then he came back to Sherlock’s side. Before he could cover Sherlock with it, however, his brow furrowed. “Hey, are you okay?”

No, Sherlock was not okay at all. Shudders were wracking his frail, white body. He had finally lost control over himself. And it was perfect timing—right when John had laid him along his bed! It was appallingly pathetic, but Sherlock wanted John so desperately that it terrified him. He longed to beg for John to take him, to possess him completely. Sherlock’s lower body was already begging for John’s hot, large hands. His groin was growing maddeningly wet. He was horribly ashamed.

Though John didn’t understand Sherlock’s distress, that didn’t stop him from trying to make things better. “Sh, Sherlock, I’ll keep you warm. I’m here. I haven’t let you down before, have I? Trust me.” He pressed the warm blanket close to Sherlock’s skin, all along Sherlock’s thin frame—

Sherlock cried out at the burst of pleasure that shot through him at the feel of the cloth, which had come too close to his opening slit. His body had given way at last, parting its curtains with a will of its own. His perpetual nudity was to be his downfall.

“Ah?” John was at once confused and alarmed. “Sherlock, what’s wrong? Damn it, are you hurt?”

Sherlock was wide-eyed at how good John’s indirect touch had felt. Sherlock was certain that John had felt that Sherlock’s front slit had changed shape. He was also certain he was about to revolt John, or offend John, but he couldn’t resist his love for John anymore. “No, u-um, n-not hurt…” Sherlock despised his own weakness, but there was nothing he could do to make himself stronger. He was so upset with himself that he wanted to weep. “P-Please...”

“Huh?” John’s face transformed from worry into something more like fascination. “You said, please?” he repeated, wondering. “Please… what?”

It was terrifying to the ends of his nerves, how Sherlock ceased to be master of himself when he was with John. His hands instinctively curled and retreated in fright. “Never mind, I-I’m… I’m sorry…”

Understanding dawned on John’s handsome, stubbled face. “Oh… So, this means that you’re…” He glanced down at the blanket with a sympathetic expression, then back at Sherlock with a new darkness to his eyes. “You want me to do that again?”

Yes, Sherlock wanted that intimacy again and again, never-ending. “I’m sorry…”

“Hey, there’s no need to apologise. I’m glad to give you anything you want… anything.” A coarse smile came upon John’s features. “And you say you… want this?” He deliberately pressed the cloth into Sherlock’s crotch again, right into his wet slit. 

Sherlock gasped at the rush of pleasure. John’s touch was lusciously firm and confident. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered closed and his body rocked into the touch. “Y-Yes,” he gasped. “S-Sorry.” 

“Oh, good God,” the prince murmured to himself.

Embarrassed with himself again, Sherlock struggled to sit upright, to make things right again. “I didn’t mean to—”

But the hot human was on him before he could. “No, no, you keep lying down, baby.” He easily pushed Sherlock’s light shoulder back down, and swiftly the little creature collapsed, unable to rise. Sherlock stared up at John in fright, but John kept his heavy hand there, so that the pale, helpless merman was effectively pinned beneath him. John continued to gently and lovingly stroke the cloth along Sherlock’s wet inside.

A trembling, needy moan tore itself from Sherlock’s slender throat. Terror and shame burned all through him, yet his head rolled back into the bedsheets in ecstasy. The feeling of John’s strokes inside of him was sweetly intoxicating. He wanted John to do whatever he wished with him. He felt his body opening up for John, blooming like an innocent flower for John.

John’s eyes brightened with lascivious appreciation at the sight. “Gorgeous.” John leaned close, flooding Sherlock’s senses with that familiar heavy, musky smell and his deep, rolling voice. “You like what I’m doing to you, Sherlock?”

The delicate merman whimpered. Sherlock loved the unspeakable, vulgar thing John was doing to him. An aching lust for John possessed his thin, exposed body. Sherlock had never wanted anything more than how much he wanted John to go on rubbing and teasing him. He wasn’t strong enough to really grab onto anything, but he did try to hold onto John.

And then, a profound, hypnotic music swamped Sherlock’s ears, piercing him. That was the sound of… John moaning? Yes, that was John’s moan that had filled the room and overwhelmed Sherlock. “God, it’s so good to finally do this for you. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this kind of thing for you.” John slowed his pace to a softer rhythm. It was intolerable. “Can I see how you look down there, Sherlock? Under this blanket, I mean. I want to get rid of this thing. We don’t need it. I’ll warm you up all by myself.”

Horrible dread struck Sherlock. John was asking to have a good look at his anatomy, which was so unlike that of a human being. When John saw it, he would remember that Sherlock was an alien creature. John would loathe the obscene strangeness he saw. But Sherlock remembered too well that John was a collector, a man who delighted in the strange and the unexplored—and that was why Sherlock was here, wasn’t it? He could please John as a novelty, and so too, with luck, could his anatomy.

When Sherlock failed to answer him, John encouraged him patiently. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll make it so good for you, if you’ll let me. Isn’t this good?” He dug his veiled fingers delightfully further into Sherlock, mapping his insides through the slim barrier, making Sherlock sob. “Oh, God. You’re so aroused right now, aren’t you? I’ll make it all better, that’s what I’m here for. Sherlock, you know I would never hurt you. Please, can I see?”

With thin tears falling down from the corners of his eyes, Sherlock broke down. “Y-Yes.”

The prince lit up as bright as the sun. He removed the blanket between them. Directly, Sherlock bit his lip and looked away. It was irredeemable, how openly needy his body had become, and how it was baring itself so wantonly before John right now. Sherlock was too nervous to look, because he didn’t want to see John’s disappointment when the human discovered what sort of shame a small, pale merman like him would be guilty of. Therefore, Sherlock didn’t observe John lick two of his own enormous fingers, and lower them to rub inside of Sherlock’s crotch, until it was too late.

Sherlock screamed. Those two fingers penetrated into his wet body, trespassing inside him with precision and reverence, exploring Sherlock as if he were a sacred temple. “John! J-John!” Sherlock’s voice came out weak and gasping. He couldn’t keep it in. He was about to make a fool of himself, but he couldn’t stop it from happening. He couldn’t find the oxygen in him to give a warning to John of what to expect—

It was too late. “Oh. You have something in here, don’t you?”

It was impossible to do anything about it now. Sherlock groaned in his high-pitched voice with a desperate need as his small, wet length slid out from inside him into the welcoming sanctuary of John’s hand. “I’m so s-sorry,” Sherlock managed to say, feeling terrible. It was a wasted attempt to apologise for his strange form, his lust, his presumption, everything.

Yet there was no response of disgust like what he had expected. John was always so kind to him, even now. He was kind and forgiving to the last. John consoled him. “Don’t be sorry, baby. You’re beautiful. You don’t have to be so nervous, okay? I’ll look after you.” John kissed Sherlock’s cheek affectionately. “Here, do you like this?” Sherlock was powerless as a strong palm cupped his ache with room to spare, and defiled him with easy, profane strokes. 

“J-John!” At this rate, Sherlock was going to melt into a puddle from pure pleasure. The sensations were as humiliating as they were wonderful. “John, p-please,” he cried. His length was now fully out and being cradled by John’s kind grip. It was a humiliating loss of self-restraint, which no self-respecting merman should ever allow himself.

Fortunately, the uncontrolled display of desire seemed only to please the great human prince. He sounded loud to Sherlock’s sensitive ears with his low, vulgar hums of approval. “You’re so perfect,” John whispered soothingly to Sherlock. “God, you’re so flawless, like an angel. You feel so smooth, I could hold you in my hand all day. Go on, relax for me.” 

That satisfying hand no longer touched for the sake of exploration; its every action was now focused upon best pleasing Sherlock. John’s knuckles deliberately rubbed against Sherlock’s soft walls as he stroked, making Sherlock moan feebly. He longed to thrust into John’s warmth, but in his weakness he could not manage anything more than small, erratic movements.

Of course, his sweet John noticed. “Don’t worry, baby, I can give you more.” John moved his intolerably hot hand faster, invading him even more deeply. It was divine. Sherlock couldn’t take much more of it. He had to give in to John, soon. “I’m always happy to give you more. All you need to do is ask. Hey, don’t think about this too much, okay? Just lie back for me, and feel how nice this is. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ll take care of you.”

That was all that Sherlock wanted: John, taking care of him. Sherlock did what John asked of him. He let himself turn away from all his monstrous fears, his doubts—to ignore everything in his mind except for how much he needed his majestic, almighty human. Sherlock believed now, more than ever, that he was his collector’s most beloved and cherished prize; a nearly painful burst of pride seized him.

John leaned over Sherlock to kiss him sweetly on the lips. The gesture was shockingly chaste, and contrasted sharply with the things he was doing to Sherlock’s body. One of John’s heavy knees came over Sherlock’s lower half, pinning his blue-tinted hips down with force, making it easier for John to stroke him as he liked. The commanding manner with which John’s large yet covered muscles were stretched over Sherlock filled him with curiosity, and hope that he might one day see what those muscles looked like. “Just lie back for me,” John reassured him, his voice dropping low into the earth, “and let it go. Come on, let it go for me.”

There wasn’t any avoiding the crash at the end of this road. With one last urgent whimper, Sherlock instantly arched back into the bed and made a small but splendid mess into John’s hand. All of his tension drained from him.

The handsome prince very gently milked him of all that he had, while his small length slowly shrank and receded back to its place. Sherlock, breathless and drained as he was, could do nothing but relax and enjoy John’s heartrendingly intimate touch. John sighed fondly. “Oh, Sherlock, that was fantastic. I’ve never seen anything so pretty.”

A single vague but alarming question suddenly permeated through Sherlock: what would his gentle beast do to him now?

“Hey, you’re putting on that nervous look again. But I told you, I’m here to take care of you, not hurt you.” John’s confident smile calmed Sherlock considerably. “You can rest here. I’ll go take care of myself somewhere else, okay?”

Sherlock couldn’t imagine anything as horrible as John leaving him now. “No, um, p-please, don’t go?” 

“Oh.” John understood, and looked delighted. “All right. You really don’t want me going anywhere, do you? I guess it’s only fair that you get to see what I look like, too. I’ll stay here with you, baby.” 

Sherlock nodded shakily. Then, he couldn’t look away.

With a slowness that was entirely for Sherlock’s benefit, John pulled himself out from the zip of his trousers, and stroked himself. He exhaled in relief. “Ah… Sherlock…” One of his large hands fell on the bed as John tried to steady himself. He gave a half-suppressed laugh. “Ha, you really got me worked up, didn’t you… This shouldn’t take long… God, you’re such a precious, innocent little thing…”

The heavy arousal that Sherlock was staring at was like nothing he had ever seen before. It was colossal, much bigger than his own equivalent. How could John possibly have been hiding something of that size and stiffness in his clothes? But Sherlock was too nervous to ask John such a thing. Besides for that, Sherlock could see enough of John’s groin to perceive that it was covered in a mat of thick, dark hair, which was the same colour as hair elsewhere on him. The sight of such an animalistic feature made Sherlock shiver with a need for John to possess him, to take over him. 

“I shouldn’t say this… I really shouldn’t say this, but… you look so good right now… I won’t do it, God, I would never, not when you’re afraid of me… but, if you ever wanted it…” John exhaled loudly. He braced himself hard into the bed, beside Sherlock. “I would make love to you, just the way you are now… I would make it so good and easy for you… and I’d always try to make it better for you, because you’re all I can think about… Oh, Sherlock, I would treat you right… God, I would ravage you.”

Sherlock was positively scandalised, but John chuckled.

“Never mind me, I’m rambling, you don’t need to do anything, Sherlock… You never have to do anything you don’t want to, while you’re with me, ‘kay?” John’s ragged breathing picked up its pace. “You’re so cute, Sherlock. You’re such a small, harmless thing. Oh, that adorable look on your face right now… When did you get so cute?” John groaned and curled over. “Sherlock…”

It was such a great, overwhelming relief, to know that he wasn’t so repulsive to John after all. Sherlock was frightened by the startling desire that John had so swiftly voiced, and yet… he was frightened in a good way? For so long, he had wanted John to use him with such passion, though Sherlock had shied away from imagining the details. If his kind and confident John was the one who led Sherlock through it, then, what was there to be afraid of?

“Sherlock!” John spilled himself. Quite a lot of his essence shot out of him, covering the sheets beneath and in front of him.

Mesmerised by the large amount of John’s pleasure, Sherlock was too weak to offer much support, but he never got the chance to try, anyway. Once he had recovered enough to speak, John was the one who held him, and whispered comforting things to him. Sherlock had never before considered himself as something to be desired, but that was the way John so generously made him feel. 

While Sherlock could barely keep himself awake, John used a towel and new water to clean both of them up well enough. He hurried through wiping himself down, but he didn’t hurry through neatly cleaning Sherlock until the moon-skinned merman was gleaming and spotless. “Sherlock,” he asked when he was finished, “do you want to stay here in the bed with me? Or do you want to go back to the tub?”

Sherlock tried to reach for John’s warmth, though he was too weak to be successful.

Smiling with that same brightness that Sherlock never tired of seeing, John held Sherlock’s smooth, uncovered chest to himself. The lavish heat from John’s voluptuously large body was heavenly to Sherlock’s thin, susceptible form. “Of course. This was what I wanted all along, remember?” He kissed Sherlock again, patiently, making Sherlock forget all about his awkward limits out of water and fooling himself into believing that he could belong by John’s side.

While John was hugging him, Sherlock stole a glimpse at how that part of John’s lower body softened and shrank into its hidden forest of dark hair. He marvelled for a moment at how different their bodies were. Even with all their differences, though, Sherlock had managed to be enough for John. John hadn’t thought him too much of a deviation; he had explored his loyal merman’s nakedness much as Sherlock had fantasised he would.

There, covered in John’s heavy, blazing arms and under two of John’s blankets, and as a voluntary prisoner in the castle of a powerful human prince turned collector, Sherlock wished that he might hear John call him his favourite prize.

–

John discovered, to his dismay, that his shivering merman could not last an entire night in his bed. 

He loved to at last be able to hold Sherlock as he slept, but his poor baby became too cold a couple of hours before the sun rose. It was that startling chill from his pretty white skin, and Sherlock’s uneasy breathing, that had woken John from his own deep slumber. It would have been possible to find more blankets for Sherlock, but that wouldn’t be nearly as good for him as restoring him back into a hot bath.

He rose, and lifted his still-sleeping Sherlock to the tub. John refilled the thick tub with a fresh pour of hot water. Sherlock’s body naturally centred itself, half-afloat and half-sinking, surrounded on all sides by the porcelain that was his awful showcase. John felt a wave of relief when Sherlock began to breathe more easily. 

Sherlock couldn’t live like this indefinitely. 

John had to admit that much to himself. He couldn’t bear the sight of this. Sherlock himself might go on tolerating it, but John wanted better for him. His precious, dainty little merman didn’t need to be trapped in a tiny manmade contraption forever, unable to so much as move or feed himself. 

John would fix this. He would find a way to do what was best for Sherlock, no matter what. 

But, John didn’t know what was best for him. 

Sherlock had said once that he had no home to return to, but that couldn’t be true. Sherlock must have a birthplace somewhere. He must have family, a home. Wasn’t the entire ocean home to his people? It puzzled John that Sherlock had not expressed any wish to return to any part of the open waters so far. 

How could such a limited life in John’s castle be better than an uninhibited life in the ocean? John pictured that Sherlock was a lively sprite of a merman, when he was free. Sherlock would probably swim, and dive, and breach the water with such great energy. But he could do none of those things here.

If Sherlock was only enduring this discomfort for John’s sake, then John couldn’t allow that self-sacrifice to continue.

If Sherlock was avoiding some danger awaiting him in the water, then John couldn’t allow that, either. He would defend his nervous, sylphlike Sherlock night and day. If John couldn’t physically follow him into the water, then he would follow his precious merman on a boat if need be. Even if John had to be confined to land and the two of them were doomed to meet only sporadically on the sandy beaches that joined their worlds, John would abide by those rules. He had to come up with something.

Anything, if only he could be part of Sherlock’s world.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock wasn’t surprised when, the next day, while John was showing Sherlock the rest of his maps and sketches, he insisted upon one very relevant observation:

“These oceans are so much bigger than that cramped tub,” John said, as he pointed out to Sherlock the many different seas of the world and how they were connected. 

Sherlock knew what his great prince was really meaning to ask: what was so awful about the ocean that Sherlock would rather live out the rest of his days as a human’s pet in such a horrifically tiny aquarium? Of course John would want to know how he could improve Sherlock’s life. John always wanted nothing more from Sherlock than for him to be happy. 

Maybe that concern was why John hadn’t kissed him since last night. When he had awoken, Sherlock had found himself inexplicably replaced into his hot bathwater. At first, Sherlock was thoroughly miserable, with himself and his body, which wasn’t good enough to pass the night with a human. His spirits raised, though, when he realized that he wasn’t left alone; John had been there, staying up to sit beside his tub as he so often did, stroking Sherlock’s pale shoulder and smiling down at him with the vigilance of a loyal caretaker watching over an ill patient. Sherlock may have been bodily warm, but his infatuated soul had shivered helplessly.

Sherlock’s dark secret was that John’s worry about him was a valid one. Sherlock did sometimes wish he could somehow return to the sea, and to renew the liveliness of his muscles with a good swim. Sherlock wouldn’t tell this to John, though. He couldn’t let his new owner regret taking Sherlock in, as Sherlock himself regretted nothing. He didn’t really want to return to the sea, anyway.

Sherlock decided he would tell John the truth of how he came to be alone in the first place. That ought to convince him not to worry.

Sherlock ducked shyly in his water. “Um, when I said that mermen like me don’t have homes… that wasn’t completely true…” It pained and embarrassed him to admit as much. To lie to John was to betray him.

Yet John wasn’t disturbed. The map that he had been holding up for Sherlock was carefully put to the side. “Yeah?”

“I, um, don’t have a home. Um, I used to have a home, but I don’t want to be there anymore.”

“Oh, how come?”

Sherlock nervously played with the surface of the water. He didn’t want to admit the truth of it to John, but he also didn’t want to lie again. “Most mermen are afraid of humans,” he said, after a pause. “When we think of humans, we picture cruel beasts who wants to take us from our homes—sorry.” He averted his eyes.

A strong, reassuring grip combed through Sherlock’s hair. John’s heat and musky scent soaked through the thin merman. When Sherlock looked back at John, he saw only a protective smile in the midst of that dark facial hair. “Don’t worry about it. Go on.”

The warm, hardened skin of John’s large hand that was caressing his head slowly put Sherlock at ease. “Like the others,” he pushed himself to continue, “I was afraid, too, but… humans fascinate me.” He turned shy at his own words. “I, um, I watched the humans from afar, and realised that we mermen know next to nothing about our land cousins. So, um, I studied your people, your sciences. I learned your language, too—from our own king, though I never did find out where His Majesty learned it. Your people know so much more about the world than we do…” The intense scientific curiosity that he had felt so long ago started to take him once more. “I wanted to know more about your tools, your strange machines. They are so inventive! Oh, but, um, everyone seemed to think I’d fall in line with my brothers, and be a member of the royal court. No one let me do anything, or go anywhere. They said I was too young to leave, but I, um, I got upset… and I ran away.”

“That must have taken a lot of courage,” John said. “I wonder if your brothers miss you.”

Sherlock didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t quite believe they would. Sherlock had never been popular with his own kind.

Fortunately, the brave prince wasn’t disappointed in him for his silence or his cowardly behaviour. John changed the subject. “It sounds like mermen don’t generally care much about science?” he asked. “Then, how do mermen improve their lives?”

“We use magic.”

John was taken aback. His eyes flew opened, and he grinned. “Magic! Really, magic?” 

“It’s n-nothing special,” Sherlock murmured. However, John’s open show of awe made him feel proud of his more mystical abilities, like he never had before. “It’s, um, showy, and unsystematic. It’s not very interesting, after a while. Also, it only works for us when we’re in the sea. And, um, we need certain metals to harness our magic. The king’s trident is the best at it. His Majesty could have used it to make me human, I think. That’s what I asked him to do. But, he wouldn’t do it.”

John raised a brow. “But why wouldn’t he? You said he did teach you our language.”

Sherlock shrugged shyly. “I don’t know, exactly… He did say that he didn’t believe I could survive on the surface, on my own…”

“Well, he was wrong about one thing.”

Sherlock blinked. “What?”

“You’re never going to be on your own!” John laughed. The large, powerful muscles underneath John’s tight shirt stretched handsomely as he opened his arms and wrapped them Sherlock. “I promise, I’m going to protect you from all the evil humans!”

Sherlock’s heart ran away from him. It was horrendously unfair that John could be so forgiving like this. There was nothing that Sherlock could stammer out which would be worthy of John. So, Sherlock merely rested his cold head against John’s warm, hard neck. John didn’t seem to mind this meek reticence in the least; in fact, he pulled held Sherlock closer, all but caging him sweetly in his own arms. Here, in John’s castle, Sherlock was the safest merman in the world.

It was true that Sherlock missed the freedom that he had in the sea. But if he abandoned humanity and went all the way back to Atlantica, that would be even more painful, because he would be without John.

In the castle of Prince John, he was a prisoner to the limits of his own body, but a welcome guest all the same. Sherlock had finally found a place where he could live. It was an excruciatingly stationary and simple kind of life—not to mention degrading to mermen everywhere—but John was kind-hearted enough to make sure that Sherlock was never bored and never by himself for long. Though Sherlock wasn’t always comfortable in his oversized bowl of porcelain, he would always be happy, if he really did mean enough to John to be permitted into John’s enormous bed, at least every once in a while.

All of this domesticity was destined to come to an end, however, sooner rather than later.

–

John made an honest effort not to rush the nameless, golden relationship that was blooming between him and his cute little Sherlock. Though he longed to possess Sherlock in the most intimate of ways again and again, he only kissed Sherlock chastely throughout the morning and the day after their first prurient night. It didn’t matter how magical and adorable Sherlock was; John would not let himself take advantage of his guest. Therefore, John did his best to go on respecting Sherlock’s space.

But in John’s need to not overwhelm his vulnerable Sherlock, he must have given him the wrong message, because by the time John had finished instructing Sherlock on the nature of clothes—especially the constituent parts of women’s dresses and make-up, which Sherlock innocently knew nothing about—the magical and hairless fairy of a merman was terribly downcast. 

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered, as listlessly as a ghost might.

That was unexpected, and not at all what John wanted to hear from him. “Pardon? You’re sorry?”

“It’s… all my fault, isn’t it? I ruined last night…” Sherlock shrank back in his water, trying to make himself smaller. “My wrong temperature, and the air I’m too weak for… You had to put me back, didn’t you? I’m sorry…” Though he appeared to try to hide his sudden bout of tears, Sherlock wiped at the corners of his eyes. “I-I know… I wasn’t good enough for you to use me…”

It hurt John like the sharp edge of a blade to hear Sherlock say such a ridiculous thing. It was so near to the truth while still being entirely and utterly false. Sherlock had no idea how much John wanted to please his adorable guest, and safeguard him like the most admired of treasures.

“I-I….?” Sherlock reddened like a ripening fruit at John’s sharp reaction. “Um… I-I take it back!” He shook his head with haste. “I didn’t mean to say anything like that—!”

Propriety be damned. John grabbed onto Sherlock’s shoulders with all the gentle force of his weight, to firmly stop the light mermaid’s panic before it could begin, and reassure Sherlock of his affection. “Sherlock, I don’t want you to ever feel that way. You’re more than good enough for me.”

“B-But…?” Sherlock’s bright, watery eyes glistened with the light from the lone candle on John’s desk and the sunlight from the window. “I’m… just a merman…”

Again, the pain of seeing his dearest resent his own beautiful, perfect body cut through John acutely. John wouldn’t stand for his perfect, angelic Sherlock believing that he wasn’t adequate. “No,” he declared.

Sherlock flinched. “N-No?”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Sherlock,” John said. “You’re gorgeous to me the way you are. I don’t need you to be like a human. And I absolutely don’t need you to endure something you don’t like! For that matter, why should you leave the water at all? You’re comfortable in it, and that’s exactly how I want you to be.” John tenderly rubbed Sherlock’s sensitive neck with his fingers, making him shudder. It stirred John in inappropriate ways to feel Sherlock shake beneath his touch. “If you need to stay in the water, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Sherlock breathed anxiously, leaning towards John’s heat like a modest plant leans to the sun. It was such a natural thing, John thought, to please his smooth, pale merman like this. 

John felt a now-familiar urge to adore the hairless and soft texture of Sherlock’s otherworldly body by petting along it. He gave into the urge, for once. 

His sweet little Sherlock was entirely helpless to the heat of his palm. The sight of it gave rise to the most obscene feelings in John’s heavy-built breast.

“Yeah, you can stay right where you are,” John said, more quietly but in a tone that was no less commanding. He traced along Sherlock’s shoulder, down his arm. 

Poor Sherlock was too embarrassed to do anything but tilt his head shyly. He so innocently let John do as he liked, yielding completely to John’s fondling. His naive, trusting Sherlock simply had no idea how much John wished to make him his own.

John would see to it that Sherlock knew exactly how magnificent he really was for John. Even if it meant that his indecent love for Sherlock would damn him in the eyes of mortals and the divine alike, John didn’t care. The only person in the world whose opinion mattered was the tiny, fragile creature that John had cared for in his royal bedchamber. 

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered. He was as frightened to say those two guilty words as he had been the first time.

John had nothing but patience for the scared creature. “Hey, whatever it is you’re sorry for this time, don’t be. Didn’t I say, you can stay where you are, in my bathtub? I didn’t just mean that you could go on living there—though that’ll always be true. I meant that we can do everything to each other, just like this. We don’t need the bed for anything. Make sense, baby?” John kissed Sherlock tenderly on the lips, while he still caressed him with an iron grip on his forearm. His thumb stroked over the thinness of Sherlock’s sensitive wrist. “Your bath might not fit two people side-by-side, but if we’re closer than that, it should be fine. Would you like that?”

Sherlock gasped. “B-But…?”

“You’re worried you’re not adequate for me, but, Sherlock, you’re more than adequate for me. Bed or no bed, I loved doing what I did for you last night, and ever since then I’ve only needed you more. Sherlock, if you’ll have me, I would so happily make love to you, right now, exactly as you are in this tub. That would make me the happiest man in the world.” 

His bold words shocked Sherlock. Of course they would shock him. Sherlock was too pure and gentle for the likes of such a rough human being as John—not that John would let something as useless as decency stop him from loving Sherlock.

“Unless you’d rather I not come in there with you?” John asked with a sweet, accepting smile. “I know it’s a tight enough fit in that tub as it is. We’d be fairly mashed together. I’ll understand if that’s too much. Your comfort always comes first.”

Sherlock’s tail flicked around his single-size tub anxiously. He looked down at his long, thin body with uncertainty. At first, John thought that Sherlock might be too anxious to give an answer, but he came through. “Y-You can… come in,” he managed to say.

That was music to John’s ears. He beamed. “If ever you want me out, just say the word and I’ll hop back onto land. Okay, baby? We’ll only do as much as you like, then we’ll stop.” John released his hold of Sherlock and threw off his own clothes like they were on fire—they would only get in the way of him sharing a wet bath with Sherlock, after all. John stripped himself down, piece by piece, without exception. Every article ended up in a pile on the foot of his bed.

When John was as naked as the day he was born, John noticed that Sherlock was staring at him. Then, he seemed to remember himself, and looked away, as if that were the more polite thing to do.

It never failed to amaze John how pure and humble Sherlock was. Sherlock was as inquisitive a soul as John himself, yet with none of the confidence of a hardened explorer. It made John long to protect that innocence. John’s bare feet were the first parts of him to plunge into the water. His knees crouched, each falling to either side of the end of Sherlock’s bluish tail-body, to accommodate the limited space of the tub. 

Sherlock moved back in astonishment from John’s sudden close proximity; his arms made two great splashes in the bath. “J-John?” he stuttered.

Both of John’s hands settled onto Sherlock’s hips. He raised the hips to the surface of the water, so that the curves of Sherlock’s lower body breached the surface. John lowered his face, unhurriedly, to just over the curves that housed Sherlock’s concealed arousal. “I want this,” John muttered. “God, I want this. Can I?”

“Y-Yes, but…” Sherlock was scandalized. “B-But how can you want…?” He swallowed anxiously. “I-I’m not human—?”

Those lingering doubts were too much to listen to without taking action. John was determined show Sherlock that John didn’t care what species Sherlock was. John extended his tongue, and tasted along the very edges of his slit.

With a high and thinly quaking voice, Sherlock whimpered.

That pleasant sound thrilled John. He wanted to hear more sounds like that. He dipped his tongue gently inside his soft merman, tasting him, invading his crevice until he found what he was looking for.

Sherlock moaned desperately. “P-Please…”

John set a steady pace for himself, working his mouth back and forth without inhibition. He wouldn’t be satisfied until Sherlock was convinced of his worth. He kept going, and when he had aroused Sherlock into exposing his hard ache, he still went on, squeezing every last moan from Sherlock’s lips. Meanwhile, his large hands were eager to stroke up and down along Sherlock’s impossibly smooth sides, feeling how Sherlock anxiously trembled. It pleased John to gratify Sherlock repeatedly in this way, without end. 

Until, Sherlock spoke, with an emotional strain so great that John could feel it in his own bones. “I’m s-so sorry… that I’m a merman…”

Again, not what John wanted to hear Sherlock say. He looked up hotly at Sherlock.

Sherlock was humiliated by John’s gaze. He hid the brilliantly aroused features of his face in his hands. “I-I can never be of use to you,” he sobbed. “I can’t even… wear dresses for you…”

That was such a surprising thing to hear that John paused for a long moment, so that he could grasp what Sherlock had just said. Sherlock wanted to wear clothing? Dresses, in particular?

If John had to guess why Sherlock would want such a thing, he might have thought that Sherlock was interested in looking more like a human, to feel like a better match for John. But John was in no mood to be philosophical, and all he could imagine was how preciously cute his Sherlock would be in well-cut women’s clothing. Sherlock was already such an adorable little doll. 

John swiftly moved up along Sherlock’s lithe form, and rotated the small merman’s body, to face away from John.

The sudden move left Sherlock too surprised and speechless to respond at first. 

John pressed against the slender creature’s back. “Sherlock,” John murmured to him. “You want to wear dresses for me?” 

Sherlock’s shoulders heaved with his effort to restrain his tears. “Y-Yes… b-but I can’t, in the water—”

“They’ll get soaked, I know. But that doesn’t matter. They’ll look just as good underwater.”

“And, you said that m-make-up is water-based, I-I can never use it—”

“Sh, sh,” John hushed. He slowly stroked up Sherlock’s smooth chest as he embraced him in the water. “I’m sure you’d look beautiful in make-up and dresses.” 

Sherlock sniffled. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry, I-I know this isn’t the place for it—”

“It’s all right. You’re not any less gorgeous for it, you know. If you want to cry, go right ahead. I’ll look after you all the same.” John’s thick arousal came against Sherlock’s leg; his fingers skimmed down the pale skin of Sherlock’s side, down to where it transformed into a bluish tone. He whispered to Sherlock in dark, lustful tones. “Let’s find out together, if you’re as soft and wet back here, as you are in the front.”

“A-Ah...” Sherlock was embarrassed and thrilled by the suggestion. Still, the reminder of Sherlock’s inhuman body also made him sheepish again. “Sorry…”

John huffed facetiously. “Come on, Sherlock. You keep saying sorry for things I love about you.”

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock said on impulse to that. Immediately, he groaned at himself. “No, um, please, ignore me…”

“Hey. You can say whatever you want, and I’ll listen. I swear, I’ll only go as far as you like. I’ll take care of you, okay? It’ll be easy. All right?”

Despite the apprehension and nervousness that was surely inundating his soft body at the moment, Sherlock did relax somewhat in John’s arms. “All right.” He nodded his head a little, to show his trust in John.

“That’s it...” John felt along Sherlock’s lowly tail-body, keeping his pace gradual and gentle so that Sherlock would not be unnerved. “Leave everything to me…” Deep in the warm water, John rubbed his finger around Sherlock’s rear slit. It was the first time he had ever done so; the skin here was firmer in feel than the lining of the front opening.

Sherlock gasped. 

“Does this feel good?” Always John was after the answer to that question: what sort of caresses made Sherlock feel the best? Even though John would only do as much as Sherlock liked, he wanted very badly to make a pleasure-shocked mess of his moon-skinned little merman.

Sherlock was intensely ashamed to confess his reply. “Y-Yes...”

Delighted, John patiently penetrated one finger further inside; he marvelled at the enticing texture that he instantly discovered. Even deep within, Sherlock’s body was soft, slick, and begging to be worshipped properly with the loving heat of John’s own rugged hands.

Sherlock whimpered with startled pleasure at John’s intrusion into his body. “A-Ah…?”

“Is this nice, too, Sherlock?”

Sherlock breathed rapidly. “I… d-don’t know… It’s not bad…” It was clear that Sherlock was devoting all the mental energy he could spare to calming himself, yet Sherlock was still flushed despite those efforts. Sherlock was always so nervous, John thought, so in need of his love and protection.

“It’s all fine, baby.” John rolled his finger inside, slowly letting Sherlock’s slit grow used to him. “I’ll make it so good for you,” he whispered, “you’ll love it.”

A fresh tension rushed through the thin merman; John felt Sherlock involuntarily tense in his arms. Sherlock almost apologized for it, John was sure, but there was only the ghost of a murmur of an apology on Sherlock’s lips.

“Sh.” John’s arousal mixed darkly with the sympathy that John had for the vulnerable creature who depended on him. “Sh, it’s all right…” John tenderly thrust a second finger inside, rubbing both fingers in and out with slowness and care. 

The thin-bodied merman was so weightless that he was physically moved back and forth by the rhythm of John’s fingers. “W-Would you,” the words were so quiet as to be almost inaudible, “dress m-me up?”

“Oh, yes, I’ll give you such pretty dresses to wear,” John answered huskily. “They’ll fit you so nicely.”

Sherlock bowed his head. “M-Make-up, too?”

“Of course.” John accepted this addendum with almost too much ease. “Only the nicest make-up for my little angel.” He couldn’t shake the image of his darling Sherlock painting himself fastidiously, in front a mirror. “I’ll find some made of oil, so it will stay on you. I’ll get you as much make-up as you could ever wear in a hundred years. You can put it on and take it off as many times as you want. I’ll get you a dress to go with it, one so comfortable that you can swim in it…” He entered a third finger.

Sherlock’s apprehension was very steadily dwindling. His trust in John must have finally grown to outweigh the great trepidation that such a weak being as he would naturally experience when so completely in the power of a strong human. The long tail that twitched uneasily underneath John grew more subdued.

“What do you want to wear, Sherlock?” Even when a fourth finger was added, John was patient with Sherlock. There was no need to hurry, not when time was standing still for the two of them. “What kind of dress would you like?”

“I-I… don’t know, I’ll look… too silly… in a dress…”

“Not at all. I think you’d look pretty in a dress. Maybe a shorter dress, so I can always see that adorable blue tail of yours.”

But Sherlock shook his head at himself. “It would look… better… without a tail…”

John’s spirit rebelled at this. He held Sherlock with the force of all his devotion and love to the porcelain end of the tub. “You’re unbearably cute, and that baby blue tail of yours just makes you even cuter.” He dug his hand into Sherlock’s small, tight crevice like a man carefully searching for gold.

Sherlock whimpered. “I-I want to be your prize,” the poor, sweet creature sobbed. “Y-Your best prize.”

It tormented John, how much he longed to thrust deep into Sherlock and make him feel how beautiful he really was. How could Sherlock think that anyone else would ever be as dear to him? “No one in this world is more important to me than you. You’re so precious to me. I’ll never stop taking care of you.”

“John…” Sherlock’s body begged with increasing slickness for more than just John’s hand. “P-Please…?”

“Soon, not yet.” John pressed the hair of his broad chest against Sherlock’s cool, smooth back while John kissed Sherlock’s slender neck, as he continued to prepare him. “What kind of dress would you like?” He stroked the body beneath him. “A soft colour, like you?” 

There was a sniffle or two. “I… um…”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t quite do, would it? Your make-up would be soft, sure, but your dress… Not your dress. For your dress, I bet a brilliant electric blue would match you better. You’d be the star of the show wherever you went.”

Sherlock was still in a daze of disbelief. “I would…?”

John exhaled. “God, I am so hard for you, Sherlock.” He couldn’t help being excited. Sherlock was so thin and soft in between John’s large arms and legs, and so hairless in contrast to the dark, unruly hair of his crotch. There was so much that John could do to him, but John would keep a slow pace until he knew that Sherlock was not afraid anymore.

“R-Really…?” Sherlock sounded so hopeful.

“Yes…” Inch by inch, John gently penetrated his wide, large length into Sherlock. His own legs held Sherlock’s silky body in place as he did so. “Oh, God, Sherlock,” John groaned.

Sherlock gasped out.

“Is this good, Sherlock?”

“Yes, b-but, y-you’re… disgusted?” Even now, his terror made him pessimistic.

“Disgusted?” John wondered incredulously at how someone as magical and flawless as Sherlock could still be so humiliated by his own form, which felt so good against John’s larger, bulkier, and hairier frame. He shifted himself slightly out of Sherlock, only to slide forward again. John tried to engulf Sherlock’s gentle coolness with his own hot skin.

Sherlock moaned weakly. It was an unreasonably pristine and inviting noise.

“Not disgusted…” John sensuously played with Sherlock’s curly hair while he waited a few moments for Sherlock’s sake. “Thrilled, more like… God, you’re so good… Sherlock, I’m going to make you feel so nice…”

“J-John…?”

“You’re scared, I know… But excited, too, right?” John let out a breathy laugh. “I’ve had that feeling before, too… When you’re standing over the edge of a high-rising cliff, and about to take a dive…”

Sherlock gasped out, as John tenderly moved in and out of him. The water around them formed waves and splashed against the sides of the porcelain tub, as John’s hips began to gyrate in the water.

“… but I’ll make sure it’s good for you… You can hold onto me, and I’ll keep you warm and safe…” 

Sherlock held onto the ends of the tub in front of him as well as he could, whimpering with humiliation and delight while John rocked into him. 

He was the cutest thing John had ever seen. John yearned to violate his magical fairy over and over. He fit so well inside of Sherlock, as if he belonged there. With an iron grip, John took hold of Sherlock’s lower body, bringing his shivering body as close as he could come to John’s own athletic, hair-covered nakedness with every pull. 

Sherlock moaned John’s name helplessly.

Again, John marvelled at how dainty a form Sherlock possessed. Looking down, John could so clearly the difference in girth between the two of them. It was a miracle if Sherlock really did have the strength to swim in the ocean, to say nothing of the hardiness necessary to survive in the wild. He was such an adorable, gentle creature, more akin to a delicate sprite than a human or an animal.

“A-Am I your best prize?” Sherlock choked out. He was immediately regretful of having asked the same question a second time. “S-Sorry… I’m sorry…”

His best prize. John hadn’t been sure of what that had meant the first time, and with this repetition, he was even less sure of what Sherlock was trying to ask. It was obvious, however, that Sherlock had some deep need, and that was all John needed to know for him to respond. “Yes,” John rasped, without hesitation, “you’re my best prize, baby.”

By now, John’s warmth had overwhelmed Sherlock’s cold. The smooth skin was now perfectly warm. Nonetheless, Sherlock’s shudders and cries did not diminish. Probably the loudest of the sounds that they were making would be audible elsewhere in the castle. 

John was fine with that. He was more than fine. He would love it if everyone knew exactly how well he was treating his favourite guest. “You’re my only prize,” John said. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He punctuated his meaning with several particularly hungry, authoritative thrusts.

Lovely high-pitched screams filled the sun-bathed room. More tears dropped quietly from Sherlock’s cheeks onto the shining water below them. His nervousness was never truly gone, yet Sherlock seemed happy. He sheepishly took to following John’s thrusts with movements of his entire body—not that he made much of a difference against the power of John’s muscles.

John had waited so long to be able to do this to Sherlock, and now that he was finally learning how his magical being loved to be taken, John couldn’t get enough. Every day from now on, or even more often than that, he wanted to go on doing exactly this for the magical being who wanted him. He would bury himself deep into Sherlock’s sensitive core to fill him with love and pleasure. Anything that his precious Sherlock wished for, John would give a thousand times. Of all the beautiful things and people that John had seen on his journeys, Sherlock was by far the cutest.

Sherlock finished with a stutter. His release, which was as unassuming and gentle as the merman himself, pumped out of him. The only word he could whisper—with a trembling moan—was John’s name.

John kept going a little longer, though he was painfully careful not to hurt Sherlock while the merman climaxed prettily and then recovered. Finally, John, too, lost himself, and let go inside of Sherlock. The evidence of their gratification dissolved together into the tepid water around them.

Despite all their exertion, Sherlock’s pale skin shined the same glossy, unaffected white. John’s ardour had taken its toll on him, however. The smell of obscenity covered both of them, and Sherlock was entirely drained of energy. With more weakness than usual, Sherlock slumped forward into the water.

“Easy there. I’ve got you.” John picked him back up, restored him into place along his hairy chest and between his large, heavy legs, and curled back against his own side of the tub, with a satisfied Sherlock in his hands. “That was good?” 

Sherlock replied dazedly, “Yes…”

“That’s good, ‘cause I’m not done, yet.” John’s legs kneeled, to trap Sherlock’s nude rear perfectly once more against the thick hair of his groin. His arms wrapped around and pinned Sherlock’s sternum to his own. “I still want you. You go ahead and rest for a bit, though, all right?” John smiled into Sherlock’s slim neck. “I’m a patient man.”

Soft limbs collapsed into John’s hold, while a shy smirk failed to hide itself from John’s watchful eye.

––

Sherlock never thought—after all the intimacy that the powerful prince had graciously and masterfully shared with him—that John would kick him out of the castle, but that’s what it sounded like John was doing now. If his human possessor didn’t love him in the absolute sense, at least Sherlock had believed that his strong human enjoyed making love to him. That was, until, one day:

“Sherlock, I think you should go back to the ocean,” John had said, only seconds ago, after they had finished eating breakfast together.

The world of air had never been a more agonizing place than it was in that moment. There could only be one explanation for John’s dismissal of him: Sherlock had outstayed his welcome with the grand prince. His heart sank like a wrecked ship. His owner had rejected him. And it had seemed like John was having such a good time with him, too. Sherlock whispered with a broken soul, “W-What did I do wrong?”

John was taken aback by this response. “Eh? You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t be silly!” John rubbed the top of Sherlock’s delicate back, where it broke the water. “Just listen. I’ll explain, okay?”

The infatuated merman turned to putty the instant John touched him. Sherlock listened to what his large, thick-bodied master had to say. 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said before. About how you left your home. You left family there. I wanted to know, what kind of people were they?”

Sherlock didn’t want to think about them. “They were… fine.”

“Do they care about you?”

In all honesty, Sherlock didn’t know the answer to that. They had never outright fawned over him, but they probably weren’t happy that he had disappeared from them without so much as a farewell note.

John sighed. “If they do, they must still be wondering what happened to you. I bet they’re worried about you.”

Deep down, Sherlock knew John might be right. It wasn’t as if his brothers or his friends knew where he was, or if he was even alive and safe. It’s not like he was a child, though. He didn’t need the other mermen, and they certainly had never needed him. Even for the likes of a merman, Sherlock had always been too awkward and different. It was upsetting. He wished he could simply forget about the people of his previous life and move on. 

“Sherlock, it’s okay. You know, it’s not too late to let them know you’re alive and well.”

But there was no way that Sherlock could face his friends and family on his own. His people had never understood him before; they certainly wouldn’t understand what he meant by it if he told them that he had become John’s willing consort. His friends and family were easily frightened people. They might even try to keep him from leaving again, if Sherlock ever returned home. 

He couldn’t even begin to hope for John to come with him in the ocean, either. John had such a rich life here already, and his heavy human construction would be perpetually uncomfortable under the sea—

“I wish I could come with you,” John said.

Sherlock was severely startled by that remark. John had spoken with such a sad, mourning tone.

“But, I guess that’s not possible, is it?” Nonetheless, the idea seemed to interest John. “I like to think I’m a physical kind of guy, but I don’t think I can pull that off. I can’t breathe underwater like you can. I can dive, but I probably can’t dive down to any underwater city. But, if you need me, I can stay around the water. I can take a ship, and wait for you.”

“I-I can bring you in a different way, a-actually.” When this comment provoked only John’s confusion, Sherlock hurried to explain himself. “We mermen, um, we can control the water around us. Um, that’s part of how we’re able to move around.”

“As in, you’re using magic to control the water?”

Sherlock had to think about it first. “Um… Yes…? I suppose that’s what we’re using…”

“What?” John chuckled. “You mean, you don’t know if it’s magic or not?”

“W-Well…” Sherlock’s cheeks warmed at John’s laughter. “I’ve never focused on magic very much… But, it’s not hard to do. I-I think I can make the water liveable for you, I think. At least, you’ll be able to breathe, and maybe swim a little, but you’ll need to stay within a few metres of me. It might be hard, still… It probably will be hard… And at night, when it’s dark… I don’t know how well humans can hear, especially if you don’t see with noise like we do—”

“Then of course I’ll bloody go with you,” John said.

Sherlock’s eyes were wide. He couldn’t believe John would give up everything for him, just like that. “I-It won’t be easy,” he hastened to explain, “for a human, to always be in the water—”

“I said, I’ll go with you.” John’s declaration was voiced with so much authority that Sherlock could only take it as the indisputable decree of a god. “It won’t be as hard as you think, if your magic can really do all that. I’m no stranger to exercise, you know. Remember all those expeditions I told you about? This will be just like another adventure to me. Besides, I’ve been going stir-crazy, hanging around this castle, anyway. And this adventure will be the best one yet, because I’ll have a partner for the first time. Of course I’ll go with you, Sherlock!”

Though Sherlock would have liked to believe that the only reason John would follow Sherlock was to stay with him, it was much more credible—and easier on Sherlock’s conscience—that the thrill of the adventure was indeed the deciding factor for the fearsome explorer-prince. Sherlock should have known his brave John wouldn’t turn down a challenge.

–

John had respected Sherlock’s wish to have no visitors, thus far. If they were going to leave the castle, however, there was one person whom John wished to say goodbye to first.

He put out a request for Captain Lestrade to make his way to the castle. A couple of hours later, that very man appeared at John’s gate. A few minutes later, and John was greeting his old friend at the door. 

“John,” Lestrade boomed, “how the hell have you been? I haven’t heard from you in weeks. Until now, I was thinking you were out on one of your trips again, but you’ve been here the whole time, haven’t you? What’s going on? Are you unwell? Because I swear I could smell you from as far away as your gate!”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been busy, and I guess I still am busy. I’m in the middle of an adventure.”

“Here, in your castle?”

“Yeah, as absurd as that sounds. You know the that fellow you brought here, last time?” John smirked. “The thin little fellow, with the fins?”

Lestrade was a poor liar. He was trying not to let his curiosity show, and not succeeding. “Oh yeah, I suppose I remember something like that…”

“I want you to know that he’s still here, and I’ve been looking after him. He’s not human, though he’s as intelligent as any. Might even be the most brilliant bloke I’ve ever known. His name is Sherlock. He’s been using my bathtub the whole time, hence my fantastic smell. He’s from a city under the sea, and he needs to go back there. So, that’s what I’m going to help him do. I called you here to let you know that I might be gone for a longer time than normal, but not to let anyone in town worry about what’s happened to me. Will you do that for me?”

Rather unexpectedly, Lestrade did not seem disturbed by this information. “Oh.” Understanding came over Lestrade like a wave. “Oh. I get it!”

John tilted his head. “What is it?”

“I know how much you love your expeditions. This man from the city under the sea; this merman-like person. He’s going to take you to a whole new place where no other adventurer has been before!” Lestrade laughed. “You were always a first-rate explorer! You’re going to be the first human to see Atlantis.”

“I don’t know if it’s called Atlantis, exactly,” John demurred. “I don’t even know if it’s a proper city. But… it will be something new, won’t it? I’ll probably be the first human to ever see it, like you said. Though, that’s not the reason why I’m going there.”

All the supposed understanding that Lestrade had enjoyed was gone in an instant. “It’s not?”

John was unashamed. “I’m going for Sherlock’s sake. It’s his home, and he doesn’t have it in him to make the trip alone. I may have told him that I was in it for the adventure, but that’s only because he wouldn’t let me go if he thought I was only doing it for him. He’s frightfully stubborn like that. But, he means a lot to me now. More… More than I can say.”

“Really? I don’t suppose I can see the bugger?”

Unfortunately for Lestrade, John shook his head in the negative. “I want you to meet him, but I get the feeling that Sherlock’s embarrassed about how’s he situated right now. He’s not in the best position to be making new friends.”

“That’s nice of you. I did gawk at him like an idiot last time, didn’t I?” There was a hint of regret in the words, but Lestrade kept speaking. “I don’t blame the guy for not wanting too much attention. He must be scared out of his wits, being alone here. He’s lucky that he’s got someone like you to make things easier on him.” Lestrade clapped John on the shoulder, and John was warm with pride. “Go, Prince John, have an adventure. But, bring back a good story or two, for whenever you come home.”

“I will. And I promise that I will come home, Lestrade, eventually. When Sherlock has everything figured out. Even if it’s just to visit my old friends.” John returned Lestrade’s gesture of camaraderie. “And Sherlock will love to get to know you, then. I’m certain of it.”

That sentiment had a profound effect on Lestrade, like a heavy weight had been lifted from his heart. He grinned. “I’ll be dying to meet him!”

–

Sherlock had never been in a carriage ride before. It wasn’t pleasant, on account of the bumpiness of the roads. He would have never expected that the tiny pebbles scattered innumerably along the streets could have such a deleterious effect on the carriage-riding experience. Fortunately, John had brought with them a pail of warm water, which Sherlock’s tail-fin was playing idly inside of. Water in any quantity always made things a little easier for Sherlock. The rest of Sherlock sat beside John, as his cold body greedily absorbed John’s limitless heat.

Next to the pail of water was a compact, dull-looking package. John had only said that it was what he would need when he was underwater. Sherlock had no idea what could be concealed within. Clothes, maybe, but clothes served no use in the ocean, and there was no use for most of humankind’s hygiene practices, either. Nothing that could be wrapped up neatly in a package could help make life under the sea any easier for a human.

Alas, they were both going to the ocean now. They might not return to human civilization for weeks, or months, or who knew how long. That familiar nervousness bit at Sherlock, as he feared what John might think of his homeland. He twitched restlessly, and repeatedly peeked out the carriage curtain, stealing looks of the world of the humans that he still knew so little about.

John was entirely calm. He was holding Sherlock’s hands in his own, warming them, while his arms were around him.

“Y-You won’t understand what my people say, John,” Sherlock babbled anxiously. “Only I—that is, only the king and I—know your language. And… our writing is different. You, um, won’t know where anything is.”

“Ha, that’s all right. I’ve been in that kind situation plenty of times before. I’ll find my way through.”

“And… w-we don’t wear clothes, normally. That might bother you. Some of us, mostly women, do wear shells and jewellery on occasion, but typically—”

“Sherlock.”

Sherlock froze, feeling foolish.

“Hey.” John held his soft face, and kissed his grateful merman on the lips. “Remember, I’m no stranger to exploring. No new place ever proved to be too much for me. And this time, I’ve got a native to be my guide, and not just any native. I’ll follow you anywhere, Sherlock, no problem. I’ll still be the one who protects you, with my bare hands if need be, even when we’re submerged deep in water. That’s how much you matter to me.”

It should have been emasculating, how John treated him like such a precious jewel, but Sherlock only felt a beautiful sweetness, and an unending want for more of John’s kind warmth and his musky smell. He looked down. His hands were white as snow and smooth against John’s tanned, calloused ones.

“No need to be nervous, baby.” With nothing but acceptance and fondness, John kissed Sherlock’s cheek, and above his eye. “I’m here for you. I’m here. We’ll face these other mermen together, and I’ll finally get the chance to see you swim like you were born to.”

Suddenly filled with more warmth than he could contain, Sherlock found it easy to believe him.

–

John held Sherlock bridal style, and walked him to the shore in that manner. He had dismissed his cab moments ago, so that they were alone now. The reflective water was blinding underneath the high sun. The hot sand of the beach gave way to John’s strong stride. With his modest, plain-coloured package under his arm, John kicked off his shoes, abandoning them. Shoes wouldn’t do him any good now.

“Can I… keep those, please?” Sherlock asked.

Well, they couldn’t serve much use to a merman, but John didn’t ask any questions. He bent down, allowing his curious merman to take the dark pair of shoes and hold them like precious objects to his breast.

Sherlock bit his lip, half-obscuring his gorgeous, bashful smile. “Thank you.”

John smiled eagerly in reply. “No problem. Now, is there a protocol to going underwater, or do I head straight in, no song and dance?”

Sherlock nodded. “We simply… go in.”

Bravely, John walked straight into the water. The first couple steps were not a trial at all. However, a few more steps, and the water was swiftly rising, up his knees and near his hips. The unyielding material of his trousers was uncomfortable when wet, he noticed.

Sherlock watched John enter the water with curiosity, particularly how John’s strong legs ploughed stalwartly through the water in a way so different from the methods of a merman’s tail.

A little further in, and John felt an instinct not to go on and submerge Sherlock in the water. He had to remind himself that Sherlock was a merman; this is what Sherlock needed. This is what would let him be free. John kept going.

As soon as it was submerged, Sherlock’s curly hair took on a magical life of its own. It danced softly in the clear liquid around it.

The water rose all around John. He was waiting until he was compelled by the force of nature to float, and therefore relinquish Sherlock, but the moment never came. He moved forward, further into the water, and still there was nothing preventing him from doing so. The light material of his shirt waved weightlessly in the water, unable to settle. John knew that most, if not all, of his clothes would need to be discarded.

Sherlock was now completely underwater. He seemed so serene in the water, and John couldn’t take his eyes off the cute little doll in his arms. Before John was aware of it, he, too, was entirely underwater. The sounds of the surface world were gone, and its light was carelessly and brilliantly refracted all around them. Sherlock was even more weightless than usual, but still he was clinging to John. The water was pushing them from all around them.

“Sherlock?” John asked. He had little trouble speaking, or breathing, though he sounded strange to himself. “How is this? Can you get up?”

Reluctantly, Sherlock pushed away from John and positioned himself upright with a few wags of his tail. His arms flowed to achieve balance. He turned from side to side, and stretched. He hummed, and his hum rebounded all around John—reminding John of how Sherlock had hummed in terror the first time he had seen John’s castle around him. However, circumstances were completely different now. Sherlock wasn’t stranded anymore. For the very first time, Sherlock wasn’t surrounded by that fearsome, manmade structure. Sherlock was able to hold himself tall. He swam a bit, and grinned childishly at the simple joy of swimming.

To John, it was a heart-wrenching sight. When he saw Sherlock wriggling in the water with such carefree ease while swinging John’s shoes, John knew that he had made the right decision for the two of them. 

It was fascinating, too, to watch Sherlock’s bluish curves beat gently against the water. The flawless texture of his slender body was made more evident when it was in constant movement. As Sherlock spun playfully about, John enjoyed the sight of Sherlock’s slim and unprotected body stretching into even thinner and more fragile shapes.

Abruptly, Sherlock remembered his companion, and redirected his focus onto John.

“No problems here. I’m okay,” John said. “It’s a little harder to move than normal, but I’m definitely still alive. It must be your magic, making this possible.”

Sherlock was alive with delight. “Y-You… c-can stay here, then? For good?”

With a sassy smirk, John put his hands on his hips. “You can’t get away from me that easily.”

Sherlock laughed giddily; his merry voice was even more enchanting here in the echoes of the water than on land. He clapped his hands, and all but convulsed with joy. Sherlock’s happiness was so great that he rushed toward John, and hugged his thin arms around John’s muscular bulk. 

Surprised and pleased, John laughed with him, and held him in turn. This was the kind of dignity and freedom he had wanted for his beloved. Not once before had he ever seen Sherlock so overcome with good humour. It irked John, though, that his own clothes were in the way of this embrace. His clothes were worse than useless on him, in the water. And thinking of clothes—that reminded him; it was time to give Sherlock his gift. “Hey, I got you something for just this moment.” He stepped back, and finally presented the dull package that was under his shoulder to Sherlock. “Go on, open it.”

Sherlock stared at it like it was made of gold, and worth too much to accept. Nonetheless, he did accept it. It took him a matter of seconds to remove from it what was revealed to be an electric blue dress, with full skirting and long sleeves. Immediately, Sherlock yelped with glee. He pulled the thing straight on over his head. The dress was not a normal one. Its fabric was light, but stiff, allowing it to cling to Sherlock’s body without being obtrusive. The fit was flawless, too. When Sherlock was finished fiddling with the pleats of the skirt, he beamed rays of gratitude at John.

John gave his darling merman an approving smile. “I’m glad you like it. I had it made just for you. There’s make-up in the pocket, too.”

Excitedly, Sherlock found the expensive palette. Having no idea how to use it, however, he rather cautiously poked at the soft and varied colours contained within. “F-For me?”

“Yes, it’s all for you.” John came up to Sherlock through the water, gathered up his cute bundle of electric blue, and kissed him adoringly. John marvelled at how Sherlock’s smooth visage was lovely against the rough stubble of his own tanned face. John did not linger too long, just long enough to overwhelm Sherlock with affection and the intimate sensation of his own strength.

With a shuddering exhale, Sherlock batted his eyes shyly. “Um, John, there’s something I-I want you to give you, too… please? C-Come with me?”

John blinked. “For me? Already? Ha, sure, why not.” John took Sherlock’s hand, covering it almost entirely with his own larger one. 

A rush of magic around them changed the properties of the water again, and in moments they were flying off through the water together, with Sherlock directing the flow.

Even so, if one had witnessed the possessive way that John hugged Sherlock with all the weight of his still-clothed body as they flew, one would have been hard-pressed to tell who was directing who.

Sherlock took John to the bottom of a deep grotto, far away from the beaches of mankind. John had always imagined the seabed to be perfectly flat and easy to navigate, but Sherlock’s grotto was a mess of boulders, coral, and crags that needed to be navigated through. Deep down, into a chasm within the earth, John was led to a hidden underwater cave.

And then, he saw it all.

Piled high and scattered everywhere were human-made trinkets from land. There were rusted tools, damaged pottery, and coins that were not a little valuable. There was no method of organization apparent about the objects. The largest thing that John saw was a wheel from a carriage; the most colourful was a painted shield with a crest that he did not recognize. There were some items that John could not identify, such as shiny items that might have been parts of machinery.

The rocks beneath some of the items were carved with text of an unfamiliar language. Other items were wrapped with particular colours and lengths of string. The only thing that all of them had in common, however, was that their intended meaning or use would be a mystery to one who knew nothing about the human race.

John was in awe as he set his feet again onto the ocean floor. “This is amazing.”

“I h-haven’t been many places,” Sherlock replied with modesty, though John knew that Sherlock was pleased by John’s opinion. “I, um, found most of this on the beach… Some of it was from wrecked ships… I gathered it all here, far away from the beach and from my people… Um, I’ve tried cataloguing them a few times, but I never find a good way to do it…”

John clapped Sherlock on the back, with enough care to not hurt the delicate creature. “Here, I have a couple more things to add for you!” John stripped himself of his too-heavy trousers and his too-light shirt, before offering them to Sherlock. He left his underpants on, more out of habit than necessity. If the mermen were a naked race, then John was ready to be as naked as the best of them.

The place that Sherlock eagerly found for them, as well as for John’s boots and the remaining scraps of the dull package that his dress had come in, was in the centre of the largest wall. He positioned them with great care, so that they were at the forefront of the collection. “Is this okay?”

There was a curious feeling of importance from seeing Sherlock handle his old clothes like that. “It’s spectacular. I’ll admit, I’ve never had my old clothing put up like trophies before, especially in a collection as great as this one.”

“Um, these things… do you like them?”

“They’re lovely. This gallery you’ve put together here is amazing.”

“T-They’re all yours!”

Bewildered by that comment, John turned to Sherlock.

“Oh, um…” Sherlock bowed his head. 

“I don’t think I follow,” John said. “You’re giving me everything you’ve gathered here?”

“Sorry… I shouldn’t presume, and I know it’s not much… but, i-it’s all interesting things, and it’s all I have to give, so, it’s yours, if you want it...” He began to sink in the water. “You didn’t have to come here with me, so…”

“Sherlock. You don’t need to reward me for sticking by you. And anyway, I don’t care that much about collecting things.”

Two bewildered eyes turned on John. “But… what about all the rare things in your castle… and me…?”

John didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a collector, and… I am a merman, something rare… I thought that was why, you had me in your castle…?”

Of course, John knew by now that Sherlock had a rather low opinion of himself. Even so, John couldn’t believe Sherlock had entertained such a thought for even a second. “No, don’t be silly! You’re not like that to me, Sherlock. I would never treat you like that. I’m hardly much of a collector, anyway, and certainly not of mermen! I only wanted to take care of you!”

Sherlock was devastated. “Then… I’m not your… prize?”

His prize? John’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God. That’s what you meant by that? You’re no one’s prize, Sherlock! I don’t own you, I love you! There’s a difference!” John swallowed. He couldn’t accept that Sherlock thought that he meant so little to John. “Don’t you see, that’s why I’m coming with you right now? Because I love you. The short time I’ve known you was the best time of my life. You’re not just a curiosity to me.”

Much to John’s surprise, Sherlock did not seem relieved. He seemed… lost? His fingers fiddled with themselves. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise… I love you, too, John,” he said, and yet he was sad.

John was puzzled. Why would Sherlock be upset to learn that he wasn’t just a collectible to John? Why would anyone want to be a showpiece, even if that showpiece was by far the most valued and cherished of the entire gallery? And so badly enough, too, that Sherlock had begged more than once for John to call him his best prize, to possess him in such a way…

Oh. What a fool he had been. With a slowly-forming grin, John realised what the problem was. 

And as soon as he did, he grabbed Sherlock’s wrists and pinned him to a cavern wall.

Sherlock gasped. “John?”

John pressed up against him, trapping him against his body. “You’d rather be my prize, wouldn’t you?” John whispered. 

Unable to say a word to that, Sherlock merely whimpered pathetically.

“Don’t worry. I guess, in a way, you are my prize. I don’t own you, but, you are precious to me. You’re more precious than anything else in the world.” John let go of one wrist to lovingly stroke Sherlock’s cheek.

All the tension in his infatuated merman’s face crumbled underneath John’s affection. Although, there was also a new tension slowly rising to Sherlock’s features—a flustered humiliation.

Smiling, John caressed firmly down Sherlock’s clothed chest, past his stomach and then his abdomen. “I want you.”

Sherlock was flattered. Hope glistened at the corners of his eyes and the curves of his lips, despite the half-hearted insecurities that remained in his head. “I… I want you too, but I still… I don’t understand how you could want me, John,” he said, with a quiet simper. “You are so big and handsome, and I am so small…”

“And I love that about you,” John replied honestly. “Now, go on, baby,” John hummed to his half-frightened, half-aroused Sherlock, once John’s fingers found their way underneath the dress, and had reached the edges of his slit. “Open up for papa.”

The shudder that overtook Sherlock was strong enough to reverberate through the rocks. His thin body was entirely within John’s power; the small body eagerly opened itself without complaint. Sherlock’s free hand grabbed onto John’s shoulder like a lifeline. 

Sherlock’s bright eyes implored him. “John… yes, p-please…”

“It’s all right. I’ve got you.” John stroked down Sherlock’s groin, savouring the smooth skin, then gently back up, to run inside.

It was enough to make his sweet, shy Sherlock cry out with pleasure. 

“You’re my prize. I’ll show you off wherever we go. I’ll kiss you, and I’ll have you, as much as you like, until you forget everything else in the world but what I do to you.”

Though the soft, stretchy fabric of the dress concealed what sort of thing John was doing for Sherlock, it did not hide Sherlock’s embarrassed expression, which was so cute that John was compelled to kiss it.

“I’m proud to have you as my own. Oh, I love it when you get excited like this. Do you feel how wet you are?” John asked, with a purposeful twist of his wrist. 

“A-Ah…” Sherlock shook with desperate need. His tiny arousal hardened as John stroked over it. “M-More… m-more, please…?” 

“Absolutely.” John’s smile was both protective and dangerous. “I’ll give you so much more, Sherlock.” He traced his shameless caress away from Sherlock’s front crevice, and toward Sherlock’s behind. He led a path around the light blue of his merman’s slender body, which seemed to have an even softer colour in contrast to the saturated bold blue of the dress. John groped toward the opening of Sherlock’s rear slit.

“J-John…?” The wings at the end of Sherlock’s tail swayed frantically against the seabed.

“Relax.” John patiently stretched the moist, hidden skin. “You like this, don’t you?”

“Oh, y-yes, John.” Some of Sherlock’s innate nervousness melted into a submissive calmness and untainted trust, though a certain anxiety remained. John was starting to believe that Sherlock would always be at least a little nervous about this. Of course he would be. He was such an innocent, malleable thing, who John would dedicate his life to soothing and sustaining. Even though John was sinfully defiling his shining merman, John only felt innocent love and trust in the way that Sherlock’s body gave way to him.

“We’re going to go all over the world together, aren’t we? Just you and me. I’ll bring you to see all those places I’ve been, even if I have to carry you the whole way. And we’ll visit every sea, too. I’ll protect you from those mean other mermen. You’re free, as long as I’m with you.” 

The dreaminess of such a future captivated Sherlock. “Will I… always be—?”

“You’ll never stop being my prize,” John reassured confidently. “Mine, to love as much I want.” John began to scissor his fingers inside of Sherlock, prompting another loud gasp from him. “You’re unbearably pretty, Sherlock, like a perfect little nymph. Just one look at you, and I need to take care of you, and satisfy you.”

Sherlock was much too naturally timid to respond to such praise, nor could he have denied that John was satisfying him. He was easily moved under John’s great strength.

Once Sherlock’s entrance was sufficiently open, John turned him around, to rest him against the wall of the cavern. John hitched up his skirt. “You look so good in this dress, Sherlock. I wonder how good you’ll look, when you’re thoroughly painted, like a perfect beauty.”

Sherlock whimpered with humiliation as well as excitement as he braced himself against the rocks. Whatever fright or shame lingered in him was not enough to stop the tight tension from slipping out of his slender body while John touched him.

That was what John had been waiting for. He kicked off his own final undergarment for good, releasing his heavy, thick length. He didn’t need to spend any time preparing himself; he already yearned for Sherlock with a passionate lust, and it showed. He angled himself. Very gently, he entered Sherlock, penetrating him all the way, as far as Sherlock’s light little body would take him. 

With a high-pitched cry, Sherlock acquiesced to him, fitting him like a cool glove.

“Oh, God,” John gasped. The wet smoothness of his merman’s thin body was deliciously sweet. Sherlock’s rear was nestled against the dark hair of John’s groin, while John’s enormous arms took a tight hold around Sherlock. 

Sherlock whined with guilty pleasure at the press of John’s naked hair and robust heat. It was his heat, especially, that pulled Sherlock in like a magnet.

“Oh… that reminds me, Sherlock,” John whispered easily, as though he weren’t rubbing solidly against the most sensitive cavern of his soft merman. “Maybe we should… get that cold spell reversed for you, while we’re here in the ocean.”

“B-But…?” Sherlock’s reply was cutely stuttered and quietly spoken. “But… I-I have you, to keep me warm…?”

John’s heart hammered with a powerful thud. He fondly kissed Sherlock’s shimmering throat. “All right, I’ll have to do.”

Sherlock’s tail flipped happily to and fro. “I l-love you.”

John’s spirit was lifted extraordinarily high by those three unassuming words. “I love you, too, baby,” John purred lowly, making Sherlock shudder with the rumbling pitch of his tone. 

When John was at last certain that his beloved was ready and wanting, John eased himself out, then penetrated in again, slow enough to properly enjoy every inch of Sherlock to the fullest, yet with enough force to vibrate the rocks of the wall that Sherlock was leaning on. Gradually, John increased his speed, until at last he was making love to his precious merman with a passionate fervour, sweetly ravaging him.

The moans that Sherlock let out were as scintillating as the skin of his hands, neck, and tail. He let himself flow fluidly with John’s long thrusts, and when John gripped him by the hips to better fill the aching emptiness deep within him, John noticed something wonderful: self-conscious and ashamed though he might be, Sherlock seemed to begin to understand how maddeningly beautiful he was in John’s eyes.

There, at the bottom of the ocean, at the moment when they should have been heading off to Sherlock’s home where John would profess his eternal stewardship over such a lovely and fragile creature from the kingdom of mermen, John made love to him in earnest. John didn’t care if it was right or wrong; Sherlock was all his, to love with all his being and to defend jealously. It was with this thought that John put all of his limbs and his muscles to good use in pleasing Sherlock, to make sure that Sherlock thrummed with the sensation of being cherished and possessed by someone who worshipped him like the pure angel he was.

End.


End file.
